
— 1 


PZ 

3 


A m 


FT MEADE 

GenCol 1 


It 

5 


h Vvi y^vV'*r;t v’W •dtlNA* *Kv-> ,v* >v/- 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Shelf. 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


^v>^VVy!n 























































»• 

. 





































































' 





















■ 












































































- 
























































' - 


































THE (jW 191887 y 

INSURGiffiT^ 

CHIEF 


GUSTAV, 

AIMARD 






AUTHOR or 

“ Guide of the Deser 
“ The White Scalper, 
Ktc., Ktc. 


^ > > r , , - fe , ^ ^ ^ ^ <f 

N T ocd-*i*«^ n.'Att^r. CopjHjbt, 1884, bf John *▼. UfHA^VP«v« IthiinI Trl-Wffi 

VkihmI Su6^r1ptU>u. liHMW, October Ifi, 1887. 




Wk 







7<0^- 


oumR\°W 


T*3 

.New York 



oh/^ • W* joy ell (qmpany* 

14 & 16 VESEY STREET’ 


KS~ 






Umow ail Women BY THESE PRESENTS, That 

while sundry and almost countless imitations of and substitutes for 
Enoch Morgan’s Sons Sapolio are offered by unscrupulous parties, 
who do not hesitate to represent them as the original article, 

IlnOenture WITNESSETH, That there is but one 
Sapolio, to wit : — the original article manufactured by the Enoch 
Morgan’s Sons Co., of New York, unsurpassed in quality, unexcelled 
in popularity, and wudely known 
not only through its own merits, 
but -through the many original 
modes which have been adopted 
to introduce it to the attention of 
the public. Imitation is the sin- 
cerest flattery. Cheapness is a 
poor proof of quality. Cheap im- 
itations are doubly doubtful. The 
most critical communities are the 
most liberal purchasers of Sapolio 
which they invariably find to be 
worth the price they pay for it. 

In Witness Whereof, we hereby 
affix a great seal and our cor- 
porate title. 

ENOCH MORGAN’S SONS CO. 



POND’S 

The Wonto of Healing! 

For PILES, BURNS, NEU- 
RALGIA, DIARRHEA, 
STINGS, SORE THROAT, 
EYES, FEET, INFLAM- 
MATIONS AND HEMOR- 
RHAGES OF ALL KINDS. 

Used Internally and Externally. 

POND’S EXTRACT CO., 
76 5th Ave., New York. 



EXTRACT. 

CAUTION.— See that 
tlie words “POND’S 
EXT II ACT” are 
blown in each bottle, 
inclosed in a buff-col- 
ored wrapper, bear- 
in:; our landscape 
t r a d e - in a r k— none 
other is genuine. 

Sold everywhere. 
Price, 50c., SI, Si. 75, 
POND’S EXTRACT CO., 
76 5th Ave., New York. 


HAIR 

ON THE 


Permanently Removed by 

DR. WEST’S HAIR REMOVER. 


FACE, 

NECK, 

ARMS. 


An English Toilet Preparation, largely used by ladies in 
Europe. Guaranteed harmless to the skill; leaves it 
soft, white and smooth ; never fails to remove the 
hair; the only toilet preparation that a lady can use 
with perfect safety. Price $1.00 per bottle. Sent 
by mail, in plain wrappers, to any address, on receipt 
of price, by 

AMERICAN DRUG GO., BOSTON, MASS. 



NEW YORK: 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 AND 16 VESEY STKEEY. 


ikisPS 





% 


■2 

poa ;«6 

lIKiffS 

✓ l /^jr) 

fe 


I® 


-« -• J ■* 

r >: 

jv> 

|^gTd 

f 


/ Kx*V 

I 










LOVELL’S LIBRARY, 


COMPLETE CATALOGUE BY AUTHORS. 


Loveli/s Library now contains the complete writings of most of the best standard 
authors, Ruch as Dickens, Thackeray, Eliot, Carlyle, Buskin, Scott, Lytton, Black, etc., 
etc* 

Each number is issued in neat 12 mo form, and the type will be found larger, and the 
paper better, than in any other cheap series published. 

JOHN \V 


, P. 0. Box 1992. 

^ BY G. M. ADAM AND A. E 


WETHERALD 

846 An Algonquin Maiden 20 

BY MAX ADELER 

295 Random Shots 20 

825 Elbow Room 20 

BY GUSTAVE AIMARD 

560 The Adventurers 10 

667 The Trail-Hunter 10 

673 Pearl of the Andes 10 

1011 Pirates of the Prairies 10 

1021 The Trapper’s Daughter 10 

1032 The Tiger S ayer 10 

1045 Trappers of Arkansas 10 

1052 Border Rifles 10 

3063 The Freebooters 10 

1069 The White Scalper ' 10 

BY MRS. ALDERDICE 

d46 An Interesting Case 20 

BY MRS. ALEXANDER 

62 The Wooing O’t, 2 Parts, each .15 

99 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

209 The Executor 23 

849 Valerie's Fate 10 

664 At Bay 10 

746 Beaton’s Bargain 20 

777 A Second Life 20 

799 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

840 By Woman’s Wit 20 

995 Which Shall it Be? 20 

BY F. ANSTEY 

80 Vice Versa ; or, A Lesson to Fathers. . 20 

394 The Giant’s Robe 20 

453 Black Poodle, and Other Tales 20 

616 The Tinted Venus 15 

755 A Fallen Idol 20 

BY T. S. ARTHUR 

496 Woman’s Trials 20 

507 The Two Wives 15 

518 Married Life 15 

638 The Ways of Providence 15 

645 Home Scenes 15 

554 Stories for Parents 15 

563 Seed-Time and Harvest 15 

508 Words for the Wise .15 

574 Stories for Y oung Housekeepers 15 

579 Lessons in Life 15 

582 Off-Hand Sketelies 15 

585 Tried and Tempted 15 


LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 and 1G Vesey St., New York. 

BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 


419 Fairy Tales 20 

BY EDWIN ARNOLD 

436 The Light of Asia 20 

455 Pe~ rls of the Faith 15 

472 Indian Song of Songs 10 

BY W. E. AYTOUN 

351 Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers 20 

BY ADAM EADEAU 

756 Conspiracy 25 

BY SIR SAMUEL BAKER 

206 Cast up by the Sea 20 

227 Rifle and Hound in Ceylon 20 

233 Eight Years’ Wandering in Ceylon. .20 

BY C. W. BALESTIER 

381 A Fair Device 20 

405 Life of J. G. Blipne 20 

BY R. M. BALLANTYNE 

215 The Red Eric 20 

226 The Fire Brigade 20 

239 Erling the Bold .20 

241 Deep Down 20 

BY S. BARING-GOULD 

878 Little Tu’penny 10 

BY GEORGE MIDDLETON EAYNE 

460 Galaski 20 

BY AUGUST BEBEL 

712 Woman 30 

BY MRS. E. BEDELL BENJAMIN 

748 O ur Roman Palace 20 

BY A. BENRIM0 

470 Vic ......15 

BY E. BERGER 

901 Charles Auchester .26 

BY W. BERGSOE 

77 Piilone 15 

BY S. BERTHET 

366 The Sergeant's Legacy 20 

BY BJORNSTJERNE BJOJsNSON 

3 The Happy Boy 10 

4 Arne 


1 


LOVELI/'S LIBRARY 


BY WALTER BESANT 


38 They Were Married 10 

303 Let Nothing You Dismay 10 

257 AN in a Garden Fair 20 

2()8 When the Ship Gomes Home, ..... .10 

384 Dorothy Forster 20 

•99 Self or Bearer ..10 

842 The World Went Very Well Then . .20 

817 The Holy Rose 10 

10«> To Call Her Mine .20 

BY WILLIAM BLACK 

4G An Adventure in Thule, etc. ...... 10 

48 A Princess of Thule 20 

82 A Daughter of Heth 20 

85 Shandon Bells 20 

93 Macleod of Dare 20 

136 Yolande. 20 

142 Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. . . 20 

146 White Wings 20 

153 Sunrise, 2 Parts, each 15 

178 Madcap Violet 20 

180 Kilmeny 20 

182 That Beautiful Wretch 20 

184 Green Pastures, etc 20 

188 In Silk Attire 20 

213 The Three Feathers 20 

216 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

217 The Four MacNicols 10 

218 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P 10 

225 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

282 Monarch of Mincing Lane 20 

456 Judith Shakespeare 20 

584 Wise Women of Inverness 10 

678 White Heather 20 

958 Sabina Zembra 20 

BY MISS M. E. BRADDON 

88 The Golden Calf 2C 

1U4 Lady Audley'e Secret 20 

214 Phantom Fortune * 20 

266 Under the Red Flag 10 

444 An Ishrnaelite 20 

555 A urora Floyd 20 

588 To the Bitter End 20 

596 Dead Sea Fruit 2C 

698 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

766 Vixen 20 

783 The Octoroon 20 

814 Mohawks 20 

668 One Thing Needful 20 

869 Barbara; or. Splendid Misery 20 

870 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

871 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

872 Taken at the Flood .20 

873 Asphodel 20 

877 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

878 Only a Clod 20 

679 Sir Jasper's Tenant .20 

880 Lady's Mile 20 

881 Birds of Prey 20 

682 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

883 Rupert Godwin 20 

886 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

887 A Strange World . .... 20 

888 Mount Royal 20 

889 Just As I Am 20 

890 Dead Men's Shoes 20 

892 Host ges to Fortune 20 

893 Fenton’s Quest 20 

B94 The Cloven Foot 20 


B* FRANK BARRETT. 

1009 The Great Hesper M 

BY R. D. BLACKMORE 

851 Lorn a Doone, Part 1 20 

651 Lorna Doone, Part II. 20 

936 Maid of Sk< r 20 

955 Cradock Nowell, Part 1 20 

955 Cradock Nowell, Part II 20 

961 Springlm\en 20 

1034 Mary Anerley 20 

1035 Alice Lorraine .20 

1036 Cristowell SOU 

1037 Clara Vaughan 20 

1038 Crjpps the Carrier 20 

1039 Remarkable History of Sir Thomas 

Upmore .20 

1040 Erema ; or, My Father's Sin 20 

BY LILLIE D. BLAKS 

105 Woman’s Place To-day . . „ .20 

597 Fettered for Life 25 

BY ANNIE BRABSHx\W 

716 A Crimson Stain • . .20 

BY CHARLOTTE BREMER 

448 Life of Fredrika Bremer 20 

BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE 

74 Jane Eyre 20 

897 Shirley ,.20 

BY RHODA BROUGHTON 

23 Second Thoughts 20 

230 Belinda 20 

781 Betty’s Visions 15 

841 Dr. Cupid 20 

1022 Good-Bye, Sweetheart 20 

1024 Rod as a Rose is She 20 

1024 Cometh up as a Flower 20 

1025 Not Wisely but too Well 20 

1026 Nancy 20 

1027 Joan 26 

BY ELIZABETH BARRETT 
BROWNING 

421 Aurora Leigh 5A 

479 Poems. 35 

BY ROBERT BROWNING 

552 Selections from Poetical Works 20 

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 

443 Poems xO 

BY ROBERT BUCHANAN 

318 The New Abelard 20 

096 The Master of the Mine 10 

BY JOHN BUNYAN 

200 The Pilgrim's Progress 30 

BY ROBERT BURNS 

430 Poems 20 

BY REV. JAS. S. BUSH 

113 More Words about the Bible *0 

BY E. LASSETER BYNNER 

100 Nimport, 2 Parts, each i5 

102 Tritons, 2 Parts, each. W 


2 


LOVELI/S LIBRARY 


BY THOMAS CAMPBELL 

526 Poems 20 


BY ROSA NOUCHETE CAREY 


680 For Lilias 20 

1)11 Not Like other Girls 20 

012 Robert Orel’s Atonement 20 

959 Wee Wide 20 

96U Wooed and Married 20 


BY WM. CARLETOM 


J90 Willy Reilly 20 

820 Shane Fadh’s Wedding 20 

821 Larry McFarland’s Wake 10 

£22 The Party Fight and Funeral 10 

823 The Midnight Muss 10 

824 Phil Purcel. 10 

825 An Irish Oath 10 

826 Going to Maynooth 10 

827 Phelim O’Toole’s Courtship 10 

828 Dominick, the Poor Scholar 10 

829 Neal Malone 10 


4S6 

494 

6U0 

603 

608 

614 

620 

522 

525 

528 

641 

546 

650 

601 

671 


BY THOMAS CARLYLE 

History of French Revolution, 2 

Parts, each. 25 

Past and Present 20 

The Diamond Necklace ; and Mira- 

beau 15 

Chartism 20 

Sartor Resartus 20 

Early Kings of Norway 20 

Jean Paul Friedrich Richter 10 

Goethe, and Miscellaneous Essays. . .10 

Life of Heyne 15 

Voltaire and Novalis 15 

Heroes, and Hero-Worship 20 

Signs of the Times 15 

German Literature 15 

Portraits of John Knox 15 

Count Cagliostro, eto 15 


678 

Frederick the Great, 

Yol. I .... 


680 

u tt 

44 

Yol. II. . . 

....20 

691 

it 44 

44 

Yol. III... 

....20 

610 

44 44 

(4 

Vol. IV... 

....20 

619 

44 44 

44 

Vol. V. . . . 

20 

622 

44 44 

44 

Yol. VI. . 

....20 

m 

44 44 

44 

Yol. VII.. 

....20 

628 

44 44 

44 

Vol. VIII. 

....20 


630 

633 

636 

613 

6*16 

649 

652 

656 

658 

661 


Life of John Sterling 20 

Latter-Day Pamphlets. . . . . 20 

Life of Schiller 20 

Oliver Cromwell* Yol. 1 25 

44 44 Vol. II 25 

44 44 Vol. Ill 25 

Characteristics and other Essays. . . 15 
Corn Law Rhymes and other Essays. 15 
Baillie the Covenanter and other Es- 
says 15 

Dr. Francia and other Essays 15 


BY LEWIS CARROLL 


480 Alice’s Adventures 20 

481 Through the Looking-Glass 20 

BY “ CAVENDISH » 

422 Cavendish Card Essays. 15 

BY CEBV ANTES 

417 Don Quixote SO 

BY L. W. CHAMPNEY 

119 Bourbon Lilies 20 


BY VICTOR CHERBTTLIEZ 


242 Samuel Brohl & Co. 28 

BY BERTHA M. CLAY 

183 Her Mother’s Sin 20 

277 Dora Thorne 20 

287 Beyond Pardon 20 

420 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

423 Repented at Leisure 20 

458 Sunshine and Roses 20 

465 The Earl’s Atonement 20 

474 A Woman’s Temptation 20 

476 Love Works Wonders 20 

558 Fair but False 10 

593 Between Two Sins 10 

651 At War with Herself 15 

669 Hilda 10 

689 Her Martyrdom 20 

692 Lord Lynn’s Choice 10 

694 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

695 Wedded and Parted 10 

700 In Cupid's Net 10 

701 Lady Darner's Secret. 20 

718 A Gilded Sin 10 

720 Between Two Loves 20 

727 For Another’s Sin 20 

730 Romance of a Young Girl 20 

733 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

738 A Golden Dawn 10 

739 Like no Other Love 10 

740 A Bitter Atonement 20 

744 Evelyn’s Folly 20 

752 Set in Diamonds 20 

764 A Fair Mystery 20 

800 Thorns and Orange Blossoms 10 

801 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

803 Love’s Warfare 10 

804 Madolin’s Lover 20 

806 From Out the Gloom 20 

807 Which Loved Him Best 10 

808 A True Magdalen 20 

809 The Sin of a Lifetime 20 

810 Prince Charlie’s Daughter. 10 

811 A Golden Heart 10 

812 Wife in Name Only 20 

815 A Woman’s Error 20 

896 Marjorie 20 

922 A Wilful Maid 20 

923 Lady Castlemaine’s Divorce 20 

926 Claribel’s Love Story 20 

928 Thrown on the World 20 

929 Under a Shadow 20 

930 A Struggle for a Ring 20 

932 Hilary’s Folly 20 

933 A Haunted Life 20 

934 A Woman’s Love Story 20 

969 A Woman’s War 20 

984 ’Twixt Smile and Tear 20 

985 Lady Diana’s Pride 20 

986 Belle of Lynn 20 

938 Marjorie’s Fate 20 

989 Sweet Cymbeline 20 

1007 Redeemed by Love 20 

KBS The Squire’s Darling 10 

1013 The Mystery of Colde Fell 20 

BY REV. JAS. EREEMAN CLARK 

1G7 Anti-Slavery Days. 20 

EY S. T. COLERIDGE 

523 Poems 30 


3 


LOYELI/S LIBRARY, 


BY WILKIE COLLINS 

>- l'he Moonstone, Part I 

9 The Moonstone, Part II 

24 The New Magdalen 

87 Heart and Science 

418 “I Say No” 

487 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 

683 The Ghost’s Touch 

686 My Lady’s Money 

722 The Evil Genius 

839 The Guilty River 

957 The Dead Secret 

996 The Queen of Hearts 

1003 The Haunted Hotel 

BY HUGH CONWAY 

429 Called Back 

462 Dark Days 

612 Carriston’s Gift 

617 Paul Vargas: a Mystery 

631 A Family Affair 

667 Story of a Sculptor 

672 Slings and Arrows 

715 A Cardinal Sin 

745 Living or Dead 

760 Somebody’s Story 

9G8 Bound by a Spell 

BY J. FENIMQRE COOPER 

6 The Last of the Mohicans 

63 The Spy 

S65 The Pathfinder 

378 Homeward Bound 

441 Home as Found 

463 The Deerslayer 

467 The Prairie 

471 The Pioneer 

484 The Two Admirals 

488 The Water- Witch 

491 The Red Rover 

601 The Pilot 

606 Wing and Wing 

612 Wyandotte 

617- Heidenmauer 

619 The Headsman 

624 The Bravo 

627 Lionel Lincoln 

529 Wept of Wish-ton-Wish 

632 Afloat and Ashore 

639 Miles Wal liner ford 

643 The Monikins 

648 Mercedes of Castile 

653 The Sea Lions 

559 Tue Crater 

662 Oak Openings 

570 Satanstoe 

57H The Chain-Bearer 

5S7 Ways of the Hour 

601 Precaution 

603 Redskins 

611 Jack Tier 

BY KINAHAN CORNWALLIS 

409 Adrift with a Vengeance 

BY THE COUNTESS 

1028 A Passion Flower 

1041 The World Between Them 

BY GEORGIANA M. CRAIK 

1.006 A Daughter of the People. . . 


BY R. CRISWELL 

350 Grandfather Lickthingle 23 

BY R. H. DANA, JR. 

464 Two Years before the Mast 20 

BY DANTE 

345 Dante’s Vision of Hell, Purgatory, 

and Paradise 20 

BY FLORA A. DARLING 

260 Mrs. Darling’s vVar Letters 20 

BY JOYCE DARRELL 

315 Winifred Power 20 

BY ALPHONSE DAUDET 

478 Tartarin of Tarascon 20 

604 Sidonie 20 

613 Jack 20 

615 The Little Good-for-Nothing 20 

645 Tue Nabob .25 

BY REV. C. H. DAVIES, D.D. 

453 Mystic London 

BY THE DEAN OF ST. PAUL S 

431 Life of Spenser 1(L 

BY C. DEBANS 

475 A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing 20 

BY REV. C. F. DEEMS, D.D. 

704 Evolution 20 

BY DANIEL DEFOE 

428 Robinson Crusoe 25 

BY THOS. DE QUINCEY 

20 The Spanish Nun IQ 

BY CHARLES DICKENS 

10 Oliver Twist 20 

38 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

75 Child’s History of England 20 

91 Pickwick Papers, 2. Parts, each 10 

140 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

144 Old Curiosity Shop, 2 Parts, each... 15 

150 Barnaby Rudge, 2 Parts, each 15 

158 David Copperfield, 2 Parts, each ... .20 

170 Hard Times 20 

192 Great Expectations 20 

201 Martin Chuzzlewit, 2 Parts, each.... 20 

210 American Notes 20 

219 Dombey and Son, 2 Parts, each 20 

223 Little Dorrit, 2 Parts, each 20 

228 Our Mutual Friend. 2 Parts, each... 2(1 

231 Nicholas Nickleby, 2 Parts, each 20 

234 Pictures from Italy 10 

237 The Boy at Mugby 10 

244 Bleak House, 2 Parts, each 20 

246 Sketches of the Young Couples 10 

201 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

267 The Haunted House, etc 10 

270 The Mudfog Papers, etc 10 

273 Sketches by Boz 20 

274 A Christmas Carol, etc 15 

282 Uncommercial Traveller 20 

2S8 Somebody’s Luggage, etc 10 

293 The Battle of Life, etc 10 

297 Mystery of Edwin Drood ... 20 

298 Reprinted Pieces 20 

302 No Thoroughfare 15 


437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices.. , , .3WJ 


.10 

.10 

.20 

.20 

.20 

. 15 

.10 

.10 

.20 

.10 

.20 

.20 

.10 

.15 

15 

.10 

.10 

.20 

.10 

.10 

.20 

.20 

.10 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.30 

.20 

.25 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.20 

.25 

.20 

.20 

,20 

20 

,20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

25 

20 

25 

20 

20 

20 


LOVELL'S LIBRARY. 


BY CARL DETLEF 

27 Irene; or, The Lonely Manor 20 

BY PROF. DOWDEN 

404 Life of Southey 10 

BY JOHN DRYDEN ’ 

498 Poems SO 

EY DU BOISGOBEY 

1018 Condemned Door 20 

BY THE “ DUCHESS ” 

58 Portia 20 

76 Molly Bawn 20 

78 Phyllis 20 

86 Monica 10 

00 Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

92 Airy Fairy Lilian 20 

126 Loys, Lord Beresford 20 

132 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

162 Faith and Unfaith 20 

168 Beauty’s Daughters 20 

234 ltossmoyue 20 

451 Doris 20 

477 A Week in Killarney 10 

630 In Durance Vile 10 

618 Dick’s Sweetheart ; or, “ O Tender 

Dolores” 20 

621 A Maiden all Forlorn 10 

624 A Passive Crime 10 

721 Lady Branksmeve 20 

735 A Mental Struggle 20 

737 The Hannted Chamber 10 

792 Her Week s Amusement 10 

802 Lady Valworth's Diamonds 26 

BY LORD DUFFERIN 

95 Letters from High Latitudes 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS 

761 Count of M.mte Cristo, Tart 1 20 

?6! Count of Monte Cristo, Part II... ,.20 

175 The Three Guardsmen 20 

786 Twenty Years After 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part I 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part II,. .20 

885 Monte Cristo and His Wife 20 

801 Countess of Monte Cristo, Parti. ..20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Part II. ..20 

99S Beau Tancr de 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JR. 

992 Camille 10 

BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDS 

681 A Girton Girl 20 

BY GEORGE ELIOT 

56 Adam Bede, 2 Parts, each 15 

69 Amos Barton 10 

71 Silas Marner 10 

79 liomola, 2 Parts, each 15 

149 Janet’s Repentance 10 

151 Felix Holt 26 

174 Middlemareh, 2 Parts, each 20 

195 Daniel Deronda, 2 Parts, each 20 

202 Theophrastus Such 10 

2U5 The Spanish Gypsy.and other Poems20 

207 The Mill on the Floss, 2 Parts, each, 15 

208 Brother Jacob, etc 10 

£74 Essays, and Leaves from a Note- 

Book 20 


BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS 


203 Disarmed IS 

663 The Flower of Doom 10 

1005 Next of Kin 20 

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON 

373 Essays 20 

ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. 
EDITED BY JOHN MORLEY 

348 Bunyan, by J. A. Fronde 10 

407 Burke, by John Morley 10 

334 Burns, by Principal Shairp 10 

347 Byron, by Professor Nichol .10 

413 Chaucer, by Prof. A. W. Ward 10 

424 Cowper, by Goldvvin Smith 10 

377 Defoe, by William Minto 15 

383 Gibbon, by J. G. Morrison 10 

225 Goldsmith, by William Black 10 

369 Hume, by Professor Huxley .10 

401 Johnson, by Leslie Stephen 10 

380 Locke, by Thomas Fowler 10 

392 Milton, by Mark Pattison 10 

398 Pope, by Leslie Stephen 10 

364 Scott, by R. H. Hutton 10 

861 Shelley, by J. Syinouds 10 

404 Southey, by Professor Dowden 10 

431 Spenser, by the Dean of St. Paul’s. .10 

844 Thackeray, by Anthony Trollope. . .10 

410 Wordsworth, by F. Myers 18 

BY B. L. FARJEON 

243 Gautran ; or, House of White Shad- 
ows 20 

654 Love’s Harvest 20 

856 Golden Bells 10 

874 Nine of Hearts 20 

BY HARRIET FARLEY 

473 Christmas Stories 20 

BY F. W. FARRAR, D.D. 

19 Seekers after God 20 

50 Early Days of Christianity, 2 Parts, 
each 23 

BY GEORGE MANNVILLE FENN 

1004 This Man’s Wife 20 

BY OCTAVE FEUILLET 

41 A Marriage in High Life 20 

987 Romance of a Poor Young Man. ... 10 

BY FRIEDRICH, BARON DE LA 

MOTTE FOUQUE 

711 Undine 10 

BY MRS. FORRESTER 

760 Fair Women 20 

818 Once Again 2(1 

843 My Lord and My Lady 20 

844 Dolores 20 

850 My Hero 20 

859 Viva 20 

8(50 Omnia Vanitas 10 

Sul Dana Cavew 26 

862 From Olympus to Hades 20 

863 Rhona .20 

864 Roy and Viola 20 

8(55 June .26 

866 Mignon 20 

867 A Young Man’s Fancy 29 


5 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


B80 


BY THOMAS FOWLER 

Life of Locke 10 


606 


BY F, W. HACKLANDER 

Forbidden Fruit 26 


BY FRANCESCA 

177 The Story of Ida 10 

BY R. E. FRANCILLON 

319 A Real Queen 20 

856 Golden Bells 10 

BY ALBERT FRANKLYN 

122 Auieliue de Bourg 15 

BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH 

4S5 My Roses 20 

BY J. A. FROTJDE 

348 Life of Bunyan 10 

BY EMILE GABORIAU 

114 Monsieur Lecoq, 2 Parts, each 20 

116 The Lerouge Case 20 

120 Other People’s Money. 20 

129 In Peril of His Life 20 

138 T lie Gilded Clique 20 

155 Mystery of Orcival 20 

161 Promise of Marriage 10 

258 File No. 113 .. 20 

BY HENRY GEORGE 

62 Progress and Poverty 20 

390 Land Question 10 

393 Social Problems 20 

796 Property in Land 15 

BY CHARLES GIBBON 

57 The Golden Shaft 20 

BY J. W. VON GOETHE 

842 Goethe's Faust 20 

843 Goethe's Poem s 20 

BY NIKOLAI V. GOGOL 

1016 Taras Bulla 20 

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

51 Vicar of Wakefield 10 

362 Plays and Poems 20 

BY MRS. GORE 

89 The Dean’s Daughter 20 

BY JAMES GRANT 

49 The Secret Despatch 20 

BY HENRI GREVILLE. 

1C01 Frankley 20 


BY H. RIDER HAGGARD 


813 King Solomon’s Mines 29 

848 She 20 

876 The Witch’s Head 20 

900 Jess 20 

941 Dawn 20 

1020 Allan Quatermain 20 

BY A. EGMONT HAKE 

371 The Story of Chinese Gordon 20 

BY LUDOVIC HALEVY 

15 L’ Abbe Constan tin 20 

BY THOMAS HARDY 

43 Two on a Tower 20 

157 Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 
maid 10 

749 The Mayor of Casterbridge 20 

956 The Woodlanders 20 

964 Far from the Madding Crowd 20 

BY JOHN HARRISON AND M. 
COMPTON 

414 Over the Summer Sea 29 

BY J. B. HARWOOD 

269 One False, both Fair 20 

BY JOSEPH IIATTON 

7 Clytie 2ft 

137 Cruel London 20 

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

370 Twice Told Tales 20 

376 Grandfather's Chair 20 

BY MARY CECIL HAY 

466 Under the Will 10 

566 The Arundel Motto 20 

590 Old Myddleton's Money 20 

787 A Wicked Girl 10 

971 Nora's Love Test 20 

v'72 The Squire’s Legacy 20 

973 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

974 My First Offer 10 

9<5 Back to the Old Home 10 

976 For Her Dear Sake 20 

977 Hidden Perils 20 

978 Victor and Vanquished 20 

BY MRS. FELICIA HEMANS 

5S3 Poems 30 


BY CECIL GRIFFITH 

732 Victory Deane 20 

BY ARTHUR GRIFFITHS 

709 No. 99 10 

THE BROTHERS GRIMM 

221 Fairy Tales, Illustrated 20 

BY LIEUT. J. W. GUNNISON 

440 History of the Mormons 15 

BY ERNST HAECKEL 

97 India and Ceylon 20 

BY MARION HARLAND 

107 Housekeeping and Homemaking. ... 15 


BY DAVI1 J. HILL, LL.D. 

533 Principles and Fallacies of Social- '£ 

ism 15 

BY M. L. HOLBROOK, M.D. 

356 Hygiene of the Brain 23 

BY MRS. M. A. HOLMES 

709 Woman against Woman 20 

743 A Woman’s Vengeance -20 

BY PAXTON HOOD 

73 Life of Cromwell 15 

BY THOMAS HOOD 

511 Poems 


6 


LOVELL’S LIBRAE Y. 


BY HORRY AND WEEMS 

86 Life of Marion 20 

BY ROBERT HOUDIN 

14 The TrickR of the Greeks 20 

BY ADAH M. HOWARD 

970 Against Her Will 20 

993 The Child Wife 10 

BY EDWARD HOWLAND 

742 Social Solutions, Part I 10 

747 “ “ Part II 10 

758 “ “ PartHI 10 

762 “ “ Part IV 10 

765 “ “ Part V 10 

774 “ “ Part V L . . 10 

778 “ 44 Part VII 10 

782 “ “ Part VIII 10 

785 “ “ Part IX 10 

788 4< “ Part X 10 

791 “ “ Part XI 10 

795 “ “ Part XII 10 

BY MARIE HOWLAND 

534 Papa’s Own Girl 30 

BY JOHN W. HOYT, LL.D. 

635 Studies in Civil Service 15 

BY THOMAS HUGHES 

61 Tom Brown’s School Days 20 

186 Tom Brown at Oxford, 2 Parts,each . 15 

BY PROF. HUXLEY 

S69 Life of Hume 10 

BY STANLEY HUNTLEY 

109 The Spoopendyke Papers 20 

BY VICTOR HUGO 

784 Les Miserables, Part I 20 

784 “ “ Part II 20 

784 “ “ Part III 20 

BY R. H. HUTTON 

364 Life of Scott 20 

BY WASHINGTON IRVING 

147 The Sketch Book 20 

198 Tales of a Traveller 20 

199 Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

Part 1 20 

Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

Part II 20 

224 Abbotsford and Newstearl Abbey . . .10 
236 Knickerbocker History of New York.20 

249 The Crayon Papers 20 

203 The Alhambra 15 

272 Conquest of Granada .20 

279 Conquest of Spain 10 

281 Bracebridge Hall 20 

290 Salmagundi. 20 

299 Astoria 20 

801 Spanish Voyages 20 

305 A Tour on the Prairies 10 

308 Life of Mahomet, 2 Parts, each 15 

310 Oliver Goldsmith 20 

311 Captain Bonneville 20 

314 Moorish Chronicles 10 

321 Wolfert’s Roost and Miscellanies — 10 


BY HARRIET JAY 

17 The Dark Colleen 2fl 

BY SAMUEL JOHNSON 

44 Rasselas .16 

BY MAURICE JOXAI 

754 A Modern Midas 20 

BY JOHN KEATS 

531 Poems 25 

BY EDWARD KELLOGG 

111 Labor and Capital 20 

BY GRACE KENNEDY 

1C6 Dunallan, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY JOHN P. KENNEDY 

67 Horse- Shoe Robinson, 2 Parts, each .15 

BY CHARLES KINGSLEY 


39 The Hermits 20 

64 Hypatia, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY HENRY KINGSLEY 

726 Austin Eliot 20 

728 The Hillyars and Burtons 

731 Leighton Court 

736 Gcolfrey Harnlyn 


BY W. H. G. KINGSTON 

254 Peter the Whaler 

322 Mark Seaworth 

324 Round the World 

S35 The Young Foresters 

337 Salt Water 

33S The Midshipman 

BY F. KIRBY 

454 The Golden Dog 

BY A. LA POINTE 

445 The Rival Doctors 

BY MISS MARGARET LEE 

25 Divorce 

600 A Brighton Night 

725 Dr. Wilmer’s Love 

741 Lorimer and Wife 

BY VERNON LEE 

797 A Phantom Lover 

798 Prince of the Hundred Soups 

BY JULES LERMINA 

469 The Chase 

BY CHARLES LEVER 

327 Harry Lorrequer 

789 Charles O’Malley. 2 Parts, each. 

794 Tom Burke of Ours, 2 Parts, each.. 

BY H. W. LONGFELLOW 

1 Hyperion 

2 Outre- Mer 

482 Poems . . . 0 

BY SAMUEL LOVER 

163 The Happy Man 

719 Rory O’More 

849 Handy Andy 

2 


g Sc B'SZB £ $ gggg&g BBB 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY 


BY COMMANDER LOVETT-CAM- 
ERON. 

817 The Cruise of the Black Prince. ...20 

BY MRS. H. LOVETT-CAMERON 


927 Puro Gold 20 

BY HENRY W. LUCY 

96 Gideon Fleyce 20 

BY HENRY C. LUKENS 

131 Jete and Flashes 20 

BY EDNA LYALL 

962 Knights-Errant 20 

BY E. LYNN LYNTON' 

275 lone Stewart 20 

BY LORD LYTTON 

11 The Coming Itace 10 

12 Leila 10 

31 Ernest Maltravers 20 

32 The Haunted House 10 

46 Alice : A Sequel to Ernest Maltra- 
vers 20 

55 A Strange Story 20 

69 Last Days of Pompeii 20 

81 Zanoni 20 

84 Night and Morning, 2 Parts, each. .15 

117 Paul Clifford. 20 

121 Lady of Lyons 10 

128 Money 10 

152 Richelieu 10 

160 Rienzi, 2 Parts, each 15 

176 Pelham 20 

204 Eugene Aram 20 

222 The Disowned 20 

240 Kenelm Chillingly 20 

245 What Will He Do with It ? 2 Parts, 

each 20 

217 Devereux 20 

250 The Caxtons, 2 Parts, each 15 

253 Lucretia 20 

255 Last of the Barons, 2 Parts, each ... 15 

259 The Parisians, 2 Parts, each 20 

271 My Novel, 3 Parts, each 20 

27(5 Harold, 2 Parts, each 15 

289 Godolphin 20 

294 Pilgrims of the Rhine 15 

317 Pausanias 15 

BY LORD MACAULAY 

333 Lays of Ancient Rome 20 

BY KATHERINE S- MACQUOID 

898 Joan Wentworth 20 

BY E. MARLITT 

¥71 The Old Mam’selle’s Secret 20 

1029 Gold Elsie 20 

BY CAPTAIN MARRYAT 

212 The Privateersman 20 

BY HARRIET MARTINEAU 

353 Tales of the French Revolution 15 

354 Loom and Lugger 20 

367 Berkeley the Banker 20 

358 Homes Abroad 15 

363 For Each and For All 15 

372 Hill and Valley 15 

379 The Charmed Sea 15 

388 Life in the Wilds 15 

«J95 Sowers not Reapers. . . I 15 

400 Glen of the Eohoes 15 


BY FLORENCE MARRYAT. 


| 903 The Master Passion 20 

; 904 A Lucky Disappointment 10 

j 5(05 Her Lord and Master 20 

906 My Own Child 20 

I 907 No Intentions 20 

! 908 Written in Fire 20 

909 A Little Stepson 10 

910 With Cupid’s Eyes 20 

931 Why Not ? 20 

937 My Sister the Actress 20 

938 Captain Norton’s Diary 10 

939 Girls of Feversham 20 

940 The Root of all Evil 20 

9 ;2 Fracing the Footlights 20 

943 Petronel 20 

944 A Star and a Heart 10 

945 Ange 20 

946 A Harvest of Wild Oats 20 

947 The Poison of A- ps 10 

948 Fair-Haired Alda 20 

949 The Heir Presumptive 20 

950 Under the Lilies and Roses ...20 

951 Heart of Jane Warner .. 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, Part 1 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, Part II 20 

953 Phyllida 20 

954 Out of His Reckoning 10 

979 Her World agaiust a Lie 20 

990 Open Sesame 20 

991 Mad Duniaresq 20 

999 Flighting the Air 20 

BY HELEN MATHERS 

165 Eyre's Acquittal 10 

1046 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye 20 

1047 Sam’s Sweetheart 20 

1048 Story of a Sin 20 

1049 Cherry Ripe 20 

1050 My Lady Green Sleeves 20 

BY A. MATHEY 

46 DukeofKandos 20 

60 The Two Duchesses 20 

BY W. S. MAYO 

76 The Berber 20 

by j. h. McCarthy 

115 An Outline of Irish History 10 

by justin McCarthy, m.p. 

278 Maid of Athens 20 

BY T. L. MEADE 

323 How It All Came Round 20 

BY OWEN MEREDITH 

331 Lucile 20 

BY JOHN MILTON 

389 Paradise Lost 20 

BY WILLIAM MINTO 

377 Life of Defoe 10 

BY MRS. MOLESWORTH 

1008 Marrying and Giving in Marriage ..10 

BY THOMAS MOORE 

416 Lalla Rookh 20 

487 Poems 40 

BY J. C. MORRISON 

883 Life of Gibbon .10 


S 


LOVELIES LIBRARY, 


BY JOHN MORLEY 

407 Life of Burke 10 

BY EDWARD H. MOTT 

139 Pike County Folks 20 

BY ALAN MUIR 

312 Golden Girls 20 

BY LOUISA MUH LEACH 

1000 Frederick the Great aud his Court. .30 

1014 The Daughter of an Empress 30 

1033 Goethe and Schiller 30 

BY MAX MULLER 

130 India: What Can It 1'each Us?.... 20 

BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY 

197 By the Gate of the Sea 15 

758 Cynic Fortune 10 

BY F. MYERS 

410 Life of Wordsworth 10 

EY MISS ICULOCX 

33 John Halifax 20 

435 Miss Tommy 15 

751 King Arthur 20 

BY FLORENCE NEELY 

504 Hand-Book for the Kitchen 20 

BY REV. R. H. NEWT3II 

83 Right and Wrong Uses of the Bible . . 20 

BY JOHN ITICIICL 

til Life of Byron 10 

BY JAMES R. NICHOLS, M.D. 

375 Science at Home 20 

BY W. E. NORRIS 

108 No New Thing 20 

592 That Terrible Man 10 

779 My Friend Jim 10 

BY CHRISTOPHER NORTH 

439 Noctes Ambrosiaum 30 

EY LAURENCE OLIPHANT 

IDG Altiora Peto 20 

EY MRS. OLIPHANT 

124 The Ladies Lindores 20 

179 The Little Pilgrim 10 

175 Sir Tom 20 

82G The Wizard’s Son 25 

368 Old Lady Mary 10 

602 Oliver's Bride 10 

717 A Country Gentleman 20 

831 The Son of his Father 20 

920 John : a Love Story 20 

925 A Poor Gentleman 20 

994 Lucy Crofton 10 

BY OUIDA 

112 Wanda. 2 Parts, each 15 

127 Under Two I laps. 2 Parts, each. ...20 

8S7 Princess Napraxine 25 

675 A Rainy June 10 

703 Moth 8 20 

790 Othinar 20 

805 A House Party 10 

852 Friendship 20 

853 In Maremma 20 

854 Signa 20 

358 Pascarel, 20 


BY MAX O’RELL 

33G John Bull and His Island 29 

459 John Bull and His Daughters 20 

BY ALBERT K. OWEN 

655 Integral Co-operation 30 

BY LOUISA PARR 

42 Robin 20 

BY MARK PATTI50N 

392 Life of Milton 10 

BY JAMES PAYN 

1S7 Thicker than Water 20 

330 The Canon’s Ward 20 

659 Luck of the Darrells 20 

BY HENRY PETERSON 

1015 Pemberton 30 

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE 

403 Poems 20 

426 Narrative of A. Gordon Pyin 15 

432 Gold Bug, and Other Tales 15 


438 The Assignation, and Other Tales.. 15 
447 The Murders in the Rue Morgue ... .15 

BY WILLIAM POLE, F.R.S. 

406 The Theory of the Modern Scien- 
tific Game of Whist 15 


BY ALEXANDER POPE 

391 Homer's Odyssey 20 

396 Homer’s Iliad 30 

457 Poems 30 

BY JANE PORTER 

189 Scottish Chiefs, Part I. 20 

Scottish Chiefs, Part II 20 

3S2 Thaddeus of Warsaw 25 

BY C. F. F03T AND FRED. C. 
LEUBUCHER 

838 The George-Hewitt Campaign 20 

EY ADELAIDE A. PROCTER 

339 Poems 20 

BY AGNES RAY 

1010 Mrs. Gregory 20 

BY CHARLES READE 

28 Singleheart and Doubleface 10 

415 A Perilous Secret 20 

759 Foul Play 20 

773 Put Yourself in his Place 20 

913 Griffith Gaunt 20 

914 A Terrible Temptation 20 

915 Very Hard Cash 30 

916 It is Never Too Late to Mend 20 

917 The Knightsbridge Mystery 10 

918 A Woman Hater 20 

919 Readiana 10 

BY REBECCA FERGUS REDD 

16 Freckles 20 

408 The Brierfield Tragedy 20 

BY “ RITA ” 

556 Dame Durden 20 

599 Like Dian’s Kis3 20 

BY SIR H. ROBERTS 

101 Harry Holbrooke .20 


9 


lovell’s library. 


BY A. M. F. ROBINSON 

134 Aiden 15 

BY REGINA MARIA ROCHE 

411 Children of the Abbey 30 

BY BLANCHE ROOSEVELT 

837 Marked “ In Haste” 20 

BY DANTE ROSSETTI 

329 Poems 20 

BY MRS. ROWSON 

159 Charlotte Temple 10 

BY JOHN RUSKIN 

497 Sesame and Lilies 10 

505 Crown of Wild Olives 10 

610 Ethics of the Dust 10 

516 Queen of the Air 10 

621 Seven Lamps of Architecture. 20 

637 Lectures on Architecture and Paint- 
ing 15 

642 Stones of Venice, 3 Vols., each 25 

565 Modern Painters, Vol. 1 20 

672 “ “ Vol. II 20 

677 “ “ Vol. Ill 20 

6S9 “ « Vol. IV 25 

608 “ “ Vol. V 25 

598 King of the Golden River 10 

623 Unto this Last 10 

627 Munera Pulveris 15 

637 “ A J oy Forever ” 15 

639 The Pleasures of England 10 

642 The Two Paths 20 

644 Lectures on Art 15 

677 Arntra Pentelici 15 

650 Time and Tide 15 

665 Mornings in Florence 15 

668 St. Mark’s Rest 15 

670 Deucalion 15 

673 Art of England .15 

676 Eagle’s Nest 15 

679 “ Our Fathers Have Told Us” 15 

682 Proserpina 15 

685 Vald'Amo... 15 

688 Love’s Meinie 15 

707 Fors Clavigera, Part 1 30 

708 “ “ Part II 30 

713 “ “ Part III 30 

714 “ “ Part IV 30 

BY W. CLARK RUSSELL 

123 A Sea Queen 20 

399 John Holdsworth 20 

833 A Voyage to the Cape 20 

834 J ack’ s Cou rtsl i i p 20 

835 A Sailor’s Sweetheart 20 

8-36 On the Fo’k’s'e Head 20 

997 The Golden Hope 20 

BY DORA RUSSELL 

816 The Broken Seal 20 

BY GEORGE SAND 

135 The Tower of Percemont 20 

965 The Lilies of Florence 20 

BY MRS. W. A. SAVILLE 

27 Social Etiquette 15 

BY J. X. B. SAINTINE 

910 Picciula 10 


BY J. C. F. VON SCHILLER 


341 Schiller’s Poems 2fl 

BY MICHAEL SCOTT 

171 Tom Cringle’s Log 20 

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT 

145 Ivanhoe, 2 Parts, each 15 

359 Lady of the Lake, with Notes. . . .20 

489 Bride of Lammermoor 20 

490 Black Dwarf 10 

492 Castle Dangerous 15 

493 Legend of Montrose 15 

495 The Surgeon’s Daughter 10 

499 Heart of Mid-Lothian 30 

502 Waverley 20 

504 Fortunes of Nigel 20 

509 Peveril of the Peak 30 

515 The Pirate 20 

536 Poetical Works 40 

544 Redgauntlet 25 

551 Woodstock 20 

557 Count Robert of Paris 20 

f 69 The Abbot 26 

575 Quentin Durward 20 

581 The Talisman 20 

586 St. Ronan's Well 20 

59A Anne of Geierstein 20 

605 Aunt Margaret’s Mirror 10 

607 Chionicles of the Canongute 15 

609 The Monastery 20 

620 Guy Mannering 20 

625 Kenilworth 25 

629 The Antiquary 20 

632 Rob Roy 20 

635 The Betrothed 20 

638 Fair Maid of Perth 20 

641 Old Mortality 20 

BY EUGENE SCRIBE 

22 Fleurette 20 

BY PRINCIPAL SHAIRP 

334 Life of Burns 10 

BY MARY W. SHELLEY 

5 Frankenstein 10 

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 

549 Complete Poetical Works 30 

BY S. SHELLEY 

191 The Nautz Family 20 

BY WILLIAM GILMORF SIMMS 

640 The Partisan 30 

648 Mellichampe 30 

653 The Yemassee SO 

657 Katherine Walton 30 

662 Southward Ho ! — 30 

671 The Scout 30 

674 The Wigwam and Cabin 30 

677 Vasconselos 30 

680 Confession 30 

684 Woodcraft... 30 

687 Richard Hurdis 30 

690 Guy Rivers 30 

693 Border Beagles 30 

697 The Forayers 30 

702 Oharlemont SO 

703 Eutaw 30 

705 Besiuehampe 30 


3 


lovell’s 


BY J. H. SHORTHOUSE 

832 Sir Percival 10 

BY J. P. SIMPSON 

126 Haunted Hearts 10 

BY EDITH SIMCOX 

613 Men, Women, and Lovers 20 

BY A. P. SINNETT 

824 Karma 20 

BY HAWLEY SMART 

780 Bad to Beat 10 

BY SAMUEL SMILES 

426 Self-Help 26 

BY A. SMITH 

694 A Summer in Skye 20 

BY GOLDWIN SMITH 

110 False Hopes 15 

424 Life of Cowper 10 

BY J. GREGORY SMITH 

35 Selma .15 

BY S. M. SMUCKER 

£48 Life of Webster, 2 Parts, each 16 

BY P. SPIELHAGEN 

449 Qubiana 20 

BY LESLIE STEPHEN 

396 Life of Pope 10 

401 Life of J ohnson 10 

BY STARKWEATHER AND 
WILSON 

461 Socialism 10 

BY STEPNIAK 

173 Underground Russia 20 

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

76? Kidnapped 20 

768 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. 

Hyde *. 10 

769 Prince Otto 10 

770 The Dynamiter 20 

793 New Arabian Nights £0 

819 Treasure Is' and 20 

821 The Merry Men 20 

BY HESBA STRETTON 

729 Iu Prison and Out 20 

BY EUGENE SUE 

772 Mysteries of Paris, 2 Parts, each . .20 
776 The Wandering Jew, 2 Parts, each .20 

BY DEAN SWIFT 

68 Gulliver’s Travels 2C 

BY CHAS. ALGERNON SWIN- 
BURNE, 

412 Poems 20 

BY J. A. SYMONDS 

861 Life of Shelley 10 

BY H. A. TAINE 

442 Taine's E.'iglloh Literatiu-e -JO' 


LIBRARY. 

BY NIKOLAI G. TCKEKNUISH* 


COSKY 

1017 A Vital Question 30 

BY LORD TENNYSON 

446 Poems 40 

BY W. M. THACKERAY 

141 Henry Esmond 20 

143 Denis Duval 20 

148 Catherine 10 

156 Lovel, the Widower 10 

164 Barry Lyndon 20 

172 Vanity Fair 30i 

193 History of Pendennis, 2 Parts, each. .20 

211 The Newcomes, 2 Parts, each 20 

220 Book of Snobs 10 

229 Paris Sketches 20 

235 Adventures of Phili p, 2 Parts, each 1 5 

238 The Virginians, 2 Parts, each 20 

252 Critical Reviews, etc 10 

256 Eastern Sketches 10 

262 Fatal Boots, etc .10 

264 The Four Georges 10 

280 Fitzboodle Papers, etc 10 

283 Roundabout Papers 20 

285 A Legend of the Rhine, etc 10 

286 Cox’s Diary, etc 10 

292 Irish Sketches, etc 20 

296 Men’s Wives 10 

300 Novels by Eminent Hands 10 

303 Character Sketches, etc 10 

304 Christmas Books 20 

306 Ballads 15 

307 Yellowplush Papers 10 

309 Sketches and Travels in London. ... 10 

313 English Humorists 15 

816 Great Iloggarty Diamond 1C 

320 The Rose and the Ring 10 

BY JUDGE D. P. THOMPSON 

21 The Green Mountain Boys 20 

BY THEODORE TILTON 

94 Tempest Tossed, Part 1 26 

94 Tempest Tossed, Part II 20 

BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE 

133 Mr. Scarborough’s Family, 2 Parts, 

each 15 

251 Autobiography of Anthony Trollope. 20 

344 Life of Thackeray 10 

367 An Old Man’s Love 15 

BY F. A. TUPPER 

895 Moonshine 20 

BY J. VAN LENNE? 

468 The Count of Talavera 20 

BY VIRGIL 

540 Poems 25 

BY JULES VERNE 

84 800 Leagues on the Amazon 10 

35 The Cryptogram 10 

154 Tour of the World in Eighty Days. .20 

166 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea .. . 20 

185 The Mysterious Island, 3 Parts, each.15 

BY QUEEN VICTORIA 

355 More Leaves from a Life in the High- 
lands Jg 


11 


LOVELL'S LIBRARY 


BY L. B. WALFORD. 

105*. Mr. Smith .20 

1 050 The History of a Week 10 

1057 The Baby's Grandmother .20 

1058 Troublesome Daughter 20 

1050 Cousins 20 

BY GEORGE WALKER 

13 The Three Spaniards 20 


BY N. P. WILLIS 

352 Poems 20 

BY C. F WINGATE 

830 Twilight Club Tracts 20 

BY EDMUND YATES 

723 Running the Gauntlet 20 

724 Broken to Harness 20 


BY PROF. A. W. WARD 

413 Life of Chaucer 10 

BY F. WARDEN 

757 Doris’ Fortune 10 

080 At the World’s Mercy 10 

981 The House on the Marsh 20 

982 Deldee 20 

983 A Prince of Darkness 20 

BY SAMUEL WARREN 

935 Ten Thousand a Year, Part [ 20 

“ “ “ Part II 20 

“ “ “ Part III ....20 

BY DESHLER WELCH 

427 Life of Grover Cleveland 20 

BY E. WERNER 

614 At a High Price 20 

734 Vineta 20 

BY MRS. HENRY WOOD 

54 East Lynne 20 

902 The Mystery 20 

BY MRS. WHITCHER 

104 Widow Bedott Papers 20 

BY J. G. WHITTIER 

450 Poems .20 

BY VIOLET WHYTE 

963 Her Johnnie. 20 

BY W. M. WILLIAMS 

80 Science in Short Chapters 20 


BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE 

85S A Modern Telemachus 2$ 

899 Love and Life 20“ 


BY ERNEST A. YOUNG 

666 Barbara’s Rival 2(f 

691 A Woman’s Honor 20 

MISCELLANEOUS 

26 Life of Washington 20 

37 Paul and Virginia 10 

47 Baron Munchausen 10 

63 The Vendetta, by Balzac 20 

66 Margaret and her Bridesmaids 20 

72 Queen of the County..... 20 

98 The Gypsy Queen 20 

118 A New Lease of Life 20 

169 Beyond the Sunrise 20 

181 Whist, or Bmnblepuppy ? ... 10 

860 Modern Christianity a Civilized 

Heathenism 15 

265 Plutarch’s Lives, 5 Parts, each 20 

291 Famous Fut ny Fellows 20 

323 Life of Paul Jones 20 

332 Every-Day Cook-Book 20 

340 Clayton’s Rangers 20 

385 Swiss Family Robinson 20 

386 Childhood of the World 10 

897 Arabian Nights' Entertainments. . . .25 
402 How He Reached the White House. 25 

433 Wrecks in the Sea of Life 20 

434 Typhaines Abbey 25 

483 The Child Hunters 15 

857 A Wilful Young Woman 20 

966 The Story of Our Mess 20 

967 The Three Bummers 20 

1019 Soeur Louise 20 


Any number in the above list can generally be obtained from all booksellers and 
newsdealers, or when it cannot be so obtained, will be sent, free by mail, on receipt of 
£rioe by the puolishers. 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 and 16 Vesey St., New York, 


P. O. Box 1992, 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


LATEST 

1002 To Call Her Mine, by W. Besant.20 

1003 Tiie Haunted Hotel, by W. Collins. 10 

1004 This Man’s Wife, by G. M. Fenn . . 20 

1005 Next of Kin Wanted, by M. Beth* 

am-E iward3 20 

1006 A Daughter of the People, by 

Georgiana M. Craik 20 

1007 Redeemed by Love, by B. M. Clay.20 

1008 Marrying and Giving in Marriage, 

by Mrs. Moleswortu . . 10 

1000 The Great Hesper, by F. Barrett.,20 

1010 Mrs. Gregory, by Agnes Ray 20 

1011 Pirates of the Prairies, by Aimard.10 

1012 The Squire’s Darling, by Clay . . 10 

1013 The Mystery of Colde Fell, by Clay.20 

1014 Tne Daughter of an Empress, by 

Louisa Muhlbach 30 

1015 Pemberton, by Henry Peterson... 30 

1016 Taras Bulba, by Nikolai V. Gogol.. 20 

1017 A Vital (Question, by Nikolai G. 

Tchernuishevsky 30 

1013 The Condemned Door, by F. du 
Boisgobey 20 

1019 Soeur Louise (Louise de Bruneval,20 

1020 Allan Qnatermain, by Haggard. . . 20 

1021 The Trapper’3 Daughter, by 

Gustave Aimard 10 

1022 Good-Bye, Sweetheart, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

1023 Red as a Rose is She, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

1024 Cometh up as a.Flower, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

1025 Not Wisely, But Too Well, by 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

1026 Nancy, by Rhoda Broughton 20 

1027 Joan, by Rhoda Broughton 20 

1028 A Near Relation, by Coleridge 20 

1C29 Brenda Yorke, by Mary Cecil Hay. 10 

1030 On Her Wedding Morn, by Clay. . 10 

1031 The Shattered Idol, by B. M. Clay. 10 

1032 The Tiger Slayer, by G. Aimard.. 10 

1033 Letty Leigh, by Bertha M. Clay... 10 

1034 Mary Anerley.by R. D. Blackmore.20 

1035 Alice Lorraine, by Blackmore 20 

1036 Christowell, by R. D. Blackmore.. 20 

1037 Clara Vaughan, by Blackmore.. . .20 

1038 Cripps, the Carrier, by Blackmore.20 

1039 Remarkable Historyof Sir Thomas 

Upmore, by R. D. Blackmore . . 20 

1040 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin, by 

R. D. Blackmore 20 

1041 The Mystery of the Holly Tree, by 

Bertha M. Clay 10 

1042 The Earl’s Error, by B. M. Clay. .10 

1043 Arnold's Promise, by B. M. Clay.. 10 

1044 Forging the Fetters, by Alexander.10 
3045 The Trappers of Arkansas, by 

Gustave Aimard 10 


ISSUES* 

1046 Cornin’ thro’ the Rye, by Mathers. 20 

1047 Sam’s Sweetheart, by Mathers. ...20 

1048 Story of a Sin. by II. B. Mathers.. 20 

1049 Cherry Ripe, by 11. B Mathers .20 

1050 My Lady Green Sleeves, Mathers .20 

1051 An Unnatural Bondage, by Clay . . 10 

1052 Border Rifles, by Gustave Aimard.10 

1053 Gold ELie, by E Marlitt 2C 

1054 Goethe and Schiller, by Muhlbach. 30 

1055 Mr. Smith, by L B. Walford. .. .20 

1056 The Historyof a W eek,by Walford.10 

1057 The Baby’s Grandmother, ly L. B. 

Walford .2fl 

1058 Troublesome Daughters, by L. B. 

Walford 20 

1059 Cousins, by L. B. Walford 20 

1060 The Bag of Diamonds, by Fenn. 20 

1061 Red Spider, by S. BariDg-Goukl 20 

1062 Dick’s Wandering, by J. Stur> is..20 

1063 The Freebooters, by G. Aimard... 10 

1064 The Duke’s Secret, by B. M. Clay.20 

1065 A Modern Circe, by The Duchess 20 

1066 An American Journey, by Aveling.30 

1067 Geoffrey Moncton, by S. Mccdie..30 

1068 Flora Lyndsay, by S. Moodie 20 

1069 The White Scalper, by G. Aimard 10 

1070 Confessions of an English Opium 

Eater, by Thomas de Quincey. . 20 

1071 Guide of the Desert, by Aimaid.10 

1072 “ The Duchess,” by Tbe Duchess 20 


1073 Scheherazade, by F. Warden — 20 

1074 Roughing it in the Bush, by Su- 

sanna Moodie 20 


1075 The Insurgent Chief, by Aimard.. 10 

1076 Life in the Backwoods by Moodie. 20 

1077 Jim the Parson, by E. B.Benjan in. 20 

1078 Tax the Area, by Kemper Bocoek. 20 

1079 The Flying Horseman, by Aimard. 10 

1080 Tbe Blue Veil; or, The Clime of 
the Tower, by F. du Boisgobey. .20 

1081 Last of the Ancas, by Aimard 10 

1082 Strange Adventures of Lucy 

Smith, by F. C. Philips — .. 20 

10S3 As in a Looking Glass, by Fhilips.20 

1084 The Dean and his Daughter, by 

F. C. Philips 20 

1085 Life in the Clearings, by Moodie. 20 

1086 Missouri Outlaws, by Aimard 10 

1057 The Frozen Pirate, by Russell.. .20 

1058 Wilhelm Meister’3 Apprenticeship, 

Pt. I, by Goethe, translated by- 

Carlyle 20 

Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, 
Pt. II, by Goethe, translated by 
Carlyle 20 

1089 Prairie Flower, by Aimard 10 

1090 Wilhelm Meistcr’s Travels, by 

Goethe, translated by Carlyle 20 

1091 Queen Hortense, bj L. Muhlbach . 30 


Dealers can always obtain complete Catalogues with imprint, for tree distribu- 
tion, on application to the Publishers, 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 & 16 Vesey Stroot, Now York. 


THE 


Insurgent chief 



GUSTAVE AIMARD 


AUTHOR OF “THE GUIDE OF THE DESERT,” ** FLYING HORSEMAN,” ETC.j ETC. 


if' 


u 


REVISED AND EDITED BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN 



NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

14 and 16 Vesey Street 


T z. 3 


GUSTAVE AIMARD’S WORKS 

CONTAINED IN LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 

NO. PRICE. 

560 The Adventurers, ........ 10c. 

567 The Trail Hunter, 10c. 

573 Pearl of the Andes, 10c. 

ion Pirates of the Prairies, ...... 10c. 

1021 The Trapper’s Daughter, ...... 10c. 

1032 The Tiger Slayer, ....... 10c. 

1045 Trappers of Arkansas, 10c. 

1063 The Freebooters, 10c. 

1069 The White Scalper, 


X 


TROW’S 

printing and bookbinding company^ 

NEW YORK. 




THE INSURGENT CHIEF 


CHAPTER I. 

THE CALLEJON DE LAS CRUCES. 

The *own of San Miguel de Tucuman has a certain middle-aged odour about it 
•vhich is profusely exhaled from the old cloisters of its convents, and from the thick 
and gloomy walls of its churches. The Callejon de las Cruces, a narrow street, lined 
with low and sombre houses, is naturally enough the most picturesque in the town. 

At the period of our history, and perhaps at the present time, the greater part of 
the right side of the Callejon de las Cruces was occupied by a high and large house, 
of a cold and sombre aspect, whose thick walls, and the iron bars with which its 
windows were furnished, made it resemble a prison. 

Every sound died without an echo on the threshold of the door of this gloomy 
house. 

One evening — the very night when the governor of San Miguel had given, at the 
cabildo, a ball to celebrate the victory gained by Zeno Cabral over the Spaniards*— 
towards midnight, a troop of armed men, whose measured tread sounded heavily in 
the darkness, left the street de las Mercaderes, and, having reached the massive and 
solidly-bolted door of the house of which we have spoken, they stopped. 

He who appeared to be the chief of these men had knocked three times with the 
pommel of his sword, and, in a low voice, exchanged a few words with an invisible 
person ; then, on a sign from himself, the ranks of his troop opened, and four women 
— four spectres, perhaps — draped in long veils, which did not allow any part of their 
person to be perceived, entered the house silently, and in a line. 

This singular circumstance had transpired without awakening in any way the 
attention of the poor people in the vicinity. The greater part were present at the/e/e 
in the streets or in the squares of the high quarters of the town ; the remainder were 
sleeping, or too indifferent to trouble themselves about any noise whatever. 

So that, on the morrow, the inhabitants of the Callejon de las Cruces would have 
been quite unable to give the slightest account of what had passed at midnight La 

• See “ The Guide of the Desert," same publisher# 


4 


The Insurgent Chief. 


their street, at the gate of the Black House, as among themselves they called this 
gloomy habitation, for which they had a strong dislike. 

Several days had passed since the fete, the town had resumed its calm and peaceful 
appearance, only the troops ha i not raised their camp — on the contrary, the Monto - 
Viera of Don Zeno Cabral had installed itself at a short distance from them. 

Vague rumours, which circulated in the town, gave rise to the belief that the 
ffcmlutionists were preparing a great expedition against the Spaniards. 

rimilc Gagnepain, despite of his dislike to politics, had to resign himself to his rate 
as secretary to the Duke de Mantone; but he found his position a magnificent sine- 
cure; the duke and his secretary scarcely met once a week. 

M. Dubois, completely absorbed in politics, often passed the day in long and 
Serious conferences with the chiefs of the executive power. He had been charged with 
very difficult work. 

So that, spite of the lively interest which he had in his young countryman, the 
diplomatist was obliged to neglect him — of which the latter by no means complained ; 
on the contrary, profiting conscientiously by the agreeable leisure, he gave himself up 
with delight to the contemplative life so dear to artists, and lounged whole days 
about the town and country, in quest of picturesque points of view, and of fine land- 
scapes. 

This search was bv no means unprofitable in a country such as that in which he 
was living, where nature, yet little spoiled by the unintelligent hand of man, pos- 
sessed that seal of majesty and of grandeur which God alone knows how to impress 
alike upon the most vast and the meanest works which spring from His all-powerful 
hands. 


The inhabitants, accustomed to see the young man, attracted by his handsome 
and frank countenance, by his gentle manners and careless air, were, oy degrees, 
familiarised with him ; and, notwithstanding that he was a European, and especially 
a Frenchman — that is to say, a gringo or herectic — had at last come to be very 
friendly to him, and allowed him to go wherever fancy led him. 

Every one envied him, and felt constrained to love him, by reason even of his 
placid indifference. He alone, perhaps, did not perceive the effect produced by his 
presence, when he rambled about the square or the most populous streets of the town ; 
and- he continued his promenade without even considering that he was a walking 
enigma, of which they vainly sought the key. Some even, quite astounded by this 
wondrous indifference, which they could not comprehend, went so far as to believe 
that if he were not quite mad, at least he had some tendencies that way. 

Emile occupied himse.f neither with one nor the other. He continued his careless 
open-air life, following with his eyes the birds in their flight, listening for hours to- 
gether to the mysterious murmur of a cascade, or with rapture watching a splendid 
sunset in the Cordillera. 

P a ‘ nter * as we have already said, lived in a house placed at the iisposal 
of M. Dubois by the Buenos Ayrean government, and situated on the Plaza Mayor. 
The young man, on stepping out of his house, found himself in face of a wide street 
4 lisned with shops. This street was the Calle de las Mercaderes. New the 
painter had been in the habit of going straight on, of following the Calle Merotderes 
at the end of which was the Callejon de las Cruces ; he then entered the ca.iekn, and 
arrived, without any turning, at the river. Thus, twice a day—in the morning in 
g< ng out, and in the evening in returning from his promenade — Emiie Gagnepain 
passed the entire length of the Callejon de las Cruces. 

He stopped sometimes for a considerable time to admire the graceful outline of 
some gable-ends, dating from the earlier years of the conquest, and preferred to tra- 
verse this sdent and solitary street, where he could freely give himself up to his 
tnoughts without fear of being interrupted. 




The Callejnn dc las Cruces . 




One morning’ when Emile Gagnepain had begun his walk, and was pensively tra- 
versing the Callcjon de las Cruces, at the moment when he was passing the house 
of which we have spoken, he felt a slight tap on the crown of his hat, as if some light 
object had struck it, and a flower fell at his feet. 

1 he young man stopped with astonishment. His first movement was to raise his 
head, but he saw nothing. 

“ Hum 1** he murmured ; “ what does this mean? This flower, at all events, has 
not fallen from the sky.” 

He stooped and picked it up. 

It was a white rose, scarcely half opened, and still fresh and damp with dew. 

“Well, mat is odd,” said Emile; “this flower has only been fprfbered a few 
minutes! t« it r.ot to me that it has been thrown ? Nay,” added fie, lto'cing around 
him, ** it would be very difficult to have thrown it to another, for I am alone. I must 
not be carried away by vanity. I’ll wait till the evening.” 

But he was young, he believed himself good-looking ; and, moreover, he had more 
than a reasonable share of vanity. His imagination soon carried him away. He 
called to mind all the love-stories he had heard related in relation to Spain ; and, 
putting this and that together, he soon arrived at this conclusion, excessively flatter- 
ing to his self-love — that a beautiful senora, held prisoner by some jealous husband, 
had seen him pass under her windows, had felt herself drawn towards him by an 
irresistible passion, and had thrown him this flower to attract his attention. 

During the whole day the young man was burning with anxiety; twenty times he 
thought of returning, but, happily, reflection came to his aid, and he came to the 
conclusion that it would be better not again to pass the house till the hour when he 
was in the habit of returning home. 

“ In this way,” said he, with a knowing air, ** if she expects me, she will tnrow 
me another flower ; then I will buy a guitar, a mantle the colour of the wall, and I 
will come like a lover of the time of the C d Campeador.” 

But, notwithstanding this mockery, which be addressed to himself as he wandered 
about, he was much more concerned in the matter than he was ready to confess, 
and every moment he was consulting his watch to see if the hour for his return was 
near. 

When the painter thought the hour had arrived, he turned back towards home. 
Affecting, perhaps, a little too visibly the manners of a man completely indifferent, 
he reached the Cailejon de las Cruces, and soon arrived near the house. 

Spite of himself, the young man was flushed; his heart beat rapidly, and he fell 
a buzzing in his ears. 

All of a sudden, he felt a pretty smart shock to his hat, and briskly raised nil 
head. 

Sudden as had been his movement, he could see nothing, except a small object, 
enveloped in paper, and tied carefully with a purple silk thread several times round 
the paper. 

“Oh, oh!” thought the painter, picking up the little roll of paper, and rapidly 
hiding it in the pocket of bis waistcoat ; “ this complicates the matter. Are we already 
to write to one another? The devil 1 this is making rapid progress 1 ” 

He began to walk rapidly to reach his lodgings ; but soon reflecting that this un- 
accustomed proceeding would astonish people who were in the habit of seeing him 
lounging and looking about him, checked himself. 

But his hand was incessantly going to his pocket. 

°* God pardon me,” said he, after a time ! “ I believe it is a ring. Oh, oh ! that 

would be charming I Upon my word, I will return to my first idea — I will buy a 
guitar, and a mantle the colour of the wall, and in making love to my beautiful un- 
known — for she is beautiful.. I doubt not — I will forget the tormeixts of exile.” 


6 


The Insurgent Chief. 


As the reader has been in a position to perceive, Emile Gagnepain loved talking 
to himself, but the fault was not his. Thrown by chance in a foreign land, only 
speaking with difficulty the language of the people among whom he found himself, 
and not having near him any friend to whom he could confide his joys and his 
troubles, he was to some exte it obliged to make a confidant of himself. 

While he was still reflecting, the young man arrived at the house which he occu« 
pied, in common with M. Dubois. 

An attendant seemed to be waiting for his arrival. 

“ I beg your pardon, your lordship,” said the man, 44 my lord duke has several 
rimes asked for you to-day. He has left orders that as soon as you arrive we should 
ask you to go to his apartment.” 

“ Very well,” he answered, “ I will go there immediately.” 

44 Is it not strange,” murmured he, mounting the staircase, “ that this nuisance of 
a man, of whom I never know how to speak, should just want me at the very mo- 
ment when I desire to be alone ? ’’ 

M. Dubois waited for him, in a large, richly-furnished room, pacing up and down, 
his head lowered and his arms crossed behind his back, like a man occupied with 
serious reflections. 

As soon as he perceived the young man, he advanced rapidly towards him. 

44 Oh, you have come ! ” he cried. 44 I have been waiting for you two hours. What 
has become of you ? ” 

“ I have been walking. Life is so short ! ” 

44 Always the same ! ” pursued the duke, laughing. 

“ I shall take good care not to change; I am happy as I am. But, pardon me, 
could you not put off this grave conversation to a later period ? ” 

“ Impossible ! ” pursued M. Dubois, laughing ; “ you must take your part in it.” 

44 Then, since it must be so,” said he, with a sigh, “ what is the question ? ” 

44 The facts are in a few words. You know that affairs are becoming more and 
more serious, and that the Spaniards have resumed a vigorous offensive, and have 
gained some important successes ? ” 

“11 I know nothing at all, I assure you.” 

“ But how do you pass your time, then ? ” 

“ I have toid you — I walk ; I admire the works of God, and I am happy.” 

44 You are a philosopher.” 

44 1 do not know.” 

“ In a word, here is the matter in question. The government, frightened, with 
reason, at the progress of the Spaniards, wish to put an end to it by uniting against 
them all the forces of which they can dispose.” 

‘‘ Very sensibly reasoned ; but what can I do ? ” 

44 You shall see.” 

44 1 ask nothing better.” 

44 The government wishes, then, to concentrate all its forces to strike a great blow. 
Emissaries have already been dispatched in all directions to inform the generals ; out 
while we attack the enemy in front, it is important, in order to assure their defeat, to 
place them between two fires.” 

44 That is to reason strategically, like Napoleon.” 

44 Now, one general only is in a position to operate on the rear of the enemy, and 
to cut off his retreat. This general is San Martin, who is now in Chili, at the head 
of an army of io,ooc men. Unhappily, it is excessively difficult to traverse the 
Spanish lines ; but I have suggested an infallible means of doing so.” 

44 You are full of schemes.” 

“This means consists in dispatching you to San Martin. You are a foreigner 7 
they will not distrust you ; you will pass in safety.” 


The Callejon de las Cruces. 


1 


41 Well, my dear sir, your project is charming.*’ 

“Is it not ? ” 

“Yes, but on thorough reflection it does not please me at all, and I absolutely 
refu it. The devil ! I do not care to be hanged as a spy.” 

“ What you say to me annoys me to the last degree, for I interest myself very much 
in you.” 

“ I thank you for it, but I prefer that you should leave me in my obscurity.” 

“ I know it. Unhappily it is absolutely necessary that you charge yourself with 
this mission.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! It will be difficult to convince me.” 

“ You are in error, my young friend ; on the contrary, it will be very easy to me.” 

“ I do not believe it.” 

“ In this way: it appears that two Spanish prisoners, arrested some days ago at 
the cabildo, and whose trial is proceeding at this moment, have accused you of being 
one of their accomplices.” 

“ I ! ” ciied the young man, starting with rage. 

“ You 1 ” coolly answered the diplomatist. “ The order for your arrest was already 
signed when, not wishing you to be shot, I intervened.” 

“ I thank \ou for it.” 

You know how much I love you. I warmly took up your defence, and found no 
other expedient to make your innocence apparent to all, than to propose you as an 
emissary to General San Martin.’’ 

“ But it is a horrible murder 1” cried the young man, with despair; “ I am in a 
fix ! ” 

“ Alas, yes; you see me afflicted at it — hanged by the Spaniards, if they take you 
— but they will not take you — or shot by the Buenos Ayreans, if you refuse.” 

“ It is frightful,” said the young man ; “ never did an honest man find himself in 
such an alternative.” 

“ Which do you make up your mind to ? ** 

“I accept, *’ said he, cursing to himself. 

“ Calm yourself. The danger is not so great as you suppose. Your mission will 
terminate well.’’ 

“ When I dreamed that I had come to America to study art, and to escape politics, 
what a fine idea I had then ! ” 

“Giumble now,” M. Dubois said, laughing; “later you will relate your adven- 
tures.” 

“ It is necessary that I set out immediately, no doubt ? ” 

“No, we are not going on so rapidly as that. Your journey will be long and 
difficult.” 

“ How much time can I have to get ready to leave ? ” 

“ Eight days. Will that suffice you ? " 

“ Amply. Once more I thank you.” 

The countenance of the young man suddenly brightened, and he added— 

** And during this time I shall be free? ” 

“ Absolutely.” 

“Well,” pursued he, grasping heartily the hand of M. Dubois, “ I begin to be of 
your opinion.” 

“ In what way ? ” said the diplomatist, surprised at the sudden change manifested 
by the young man. 

“ I believe that all will finish better than I at first thought.” 

And after having ceremoniously saluted the old man, he left the saloon and went 
to his apartments. 


CHAPTER IT 


THE LETTER. 

The painter had taken refuge in his apartments, a prey to extreme agitation. 

Having reached his bed-room, he doubly locked the door ; then, certain that for a 
time no one would come to thrust him out of this last asylum, he allowed himself to 
fall heavily on a butacca, threw his body backward, leaned his head forward, crossed 
his arms over his chest, and — an extraordinary thing for an organisation like his — 
he gave himself up to sad and profound reflections. 

At the end of half-an-hour, the artist arrived at this miserable conclusion — that, 
from the first moment that he had placed his foot on the New World, Fate had taken 
a malicious pleasure in falling furiously upon him, and in making him the sport of 
the most disastrous combinations, spite of the efforts that he had made to remain 
constantly free from politics, and to live as a true artist. 

“ Pardieu!” he cried, angrily striking with his hand the arm of his chair, “it 
must be confessed that I have no chance! In conditions like these, life becomes 
literally impossible. What is to be done ? I have eight days before me. Well, I 
must make up my mind what to do. But what ? I see nothing but flight! Hum ! 
flight — that’s not easy; I shall be closely watched. Unhappily, I have no choice; 
come, let me study a plan of escape. Away with the wretched fare which obstinately 
makes of my life a melodrama, when I employ all my powers to make it a vaude- 
ville ! ” 

Upon this the young man, whose gaiety of disposition gained the victory over the 
anxiety which agitated him, set himself — half laughing, half seriously — to reflect 
anew. 

He remained thus for more than an hour, without stirring from his butacca. 

It cannot be denied that at the end of that time he was as far advanced as before. 

“ Well, I give it up for trie present,” he cried, rising suddenly; “ my imagination 
absolutely refuses me its aid ! It is always so ” 

Then he began to stride about his room, to stretch his legs, mechanically rolled 
up a cigarette, and felt in his pocket for his mecheio to light it. 

In the movement which he made in searching for it, he felt in his waistcoat-pocket 
something which he did not remember to have placed there. 

* tl Pardieu /” said he, striking his forehead, “1 had completely forgotten my 
mysterious unknown. If this lasts eight days, I am convinced I shall completely 
go out of my mind. Let me see what it is that she has so adroitly dropped on my 
hat.” 

While he soliloquised, the painter had drawn from his pocket the little roll of 
paper. 

“It is extraordinary,” continued he, “the influence which women exert, perhaps 
unknown to ourselves, on the organisation of men.” 

He remained some moments turning the paper in his hand, without coming to the 
xesolution to break the silk, which alone prevented him from satisfying his curiosity. 

At last, with a sudden resolution, he put an end to his hesitation, and broke with 
his teeth the delicate silk thread, and then unrolled the paper carefully. This paper, 
which served for an envelope, contained another, folded carefully, and covered on 
every page with fine writing. 

Spite of himself, the young man felt a nervous trembling as he unfolded this 
paper, in which a ring was enclosed. 


The Letter. 


9 


The ring was a simple gold ring, in which was set a ruby of great value. 

“ What does this mean ? ” murmured the young man, admiring the ring, and 
trying it mechanically on all his fingew. 

But although the artist had a very beautiful hand, this ring was so small, that it 
was only on the little finger that he could succeed in putting it. 

“ This person is evidently deceived,” pursued the painter ; “ I cannot keep this 
ring; I will return it, come what may. But to do that I must know the individual, 
and I have no other means of obtaining this information except by reading her 
letter.” 

But before opening the paper, which he apparently held with such a careless hand, 
and on which he looked so disdainfully — so much, say what we may, is man always 
a comedian, even to himself, when no one can see him, because even then he tries 
to impose upon his self-love — the artist went to try the lock, to see if the door was 
firmly fastened, and that no one could surprise him ; then he slowly returned, sat 
himself on the butacca, and unfolded the paper. 

It was, indeed, a letter, written in a fine close hand, but nervous and agitated, 
which convinced him in a moment that it was a woman’s writing. 

The young man at first read it cursorily. As he proceeded he found his interest 
increase ; and when he had reached the last word, he remained with his eyes fixed 
on the thin paper which was being crushed in his convulsive fingers. 

The following are the contents of this letter : — 

“ As an important preliminary, let me, senor, claim from your courtesy a formal 
promise — a promise in which you will not fail, I am convinced, if, as I have the 
presentiment, you are a true Caballero. I demand that you read this letter without 
interruption from beginning to end, before passing any judgment whatever. 

You are, senor- if, as I beheve, I am not deceived in my observation — a French- 
man from Europe: that is to say, the son of a country where gallantry and devotion 
to women reign supreme. 

“ I also am — not a Frenchwoman, but born in Europe ; that is to say, although 
unknown to ycu, your friend, almost your sister on that far-off land ; and as suth, I 
have a right to your protection, and I now boldly claim it from your honour. 

” My husband, the Marquis de Castelmelhor, commands a division of the Brazilian 
army, which, they say, has some days since entered Buenos Ayres. 

“ Coming from Peru with my daughter and some servants, with the intention of 
joining my husband in Brazil, I have been surprised, carried away, and declared a 
prisoner of war, by a Buenos Ayrean Montenero. 

“ If it were but a question of a detention more or less protracted, I would resign 
myself; but, unhappily, a terrible fate threatens me — a flightful danger hangs not 
only over my own head, but over that of my daughter — my innocent and pure Eva. 

“ An implacable enemy has sworn our ruin ; he has boldly accused us of being 
spies, and in a few days we shall be brought before a tribunal assembled to judge 
us, and the verdict of which cannot be doubtful — the death of traitors, dishonoui ! 
The Marchioness of Castelnulhor cannot submit to such infamy. 

“ Heaven has inspired me with the thought of addressing you, senor, for you alone 
can save me. 

“ Will you do it ? I believe you will. 

“ A stranger in this country — sharing neither the prejudices, the narrow ideas, nor 
the hatred of its inhabitants against Europeans — you ought to make common cause 
with us, and try to save us. 

“ I have long hesitated before writing this letter. Although your manners were 
those of a respectable man — although the frank expression of your countenance, and 
even your youth, prepossessed me in your favour — I feared to trust myself to you; 
but when I learned that you were a Frenchman, my fears vanished. 


10 


The Insurgent Chief. 


“To-morrow morning, between fen and eleven, present yourself boldly at the door 
of the Black House, and knock. When the door is opened, say that you have heard 
that a professor of the piano is wanted in the convent, and that you have come to 
offer your services. 

“ But be very careful. Remember that you are the only hope of two innocent 
women, who, if you refuse them your help, will die cursing you ; for their safety 
depends on you. 

“ The most unfortunate of women, 

“ Marquise Leona de Castelmelhor ” 

No pen could describe the expression of astonishment, mingled with fright, which 
was painted on the countenance of the young man, when he had finished the reading 
of this singular letter. 

To say nothing of the check to his self-love — a check always disagreeable to a 
man who for several hours had given his imagination free play in the pleasant land 
of chimeras, and who had thought himself the object of a sudden and irresistible 
passion, caused by his good looks and his Don Juan-like appearance — the service 
which the unknown lady demanded of him could not but considerably embarrass 
him. 

“ Decidedly,” he murmured, in a low voice, “ Fate too furiously pursues me. This 
is absurd ! Here am I asked to be a protector — I, who so much want protection 
myself ! ” 

He rose, and began to stride about his room. 

“ However,” added he, after a pause, “ these ladies are in a frightful position ; I 
cannot abandon them thus, without trying to come to their aid ; my honour is en- 
gaged in it. But what is to be done ? ” 

He sat down again, and was lost in a deep reverie. At last he again arose. 

Emile had evidently made a lesolve. 

He opened the door, and went down into the patio. 

It was almost night; the attendants, freed from their labours, more or less pro- 
perly accomplished, were resting themselves, reclining on palm-mats, smoking, 
laughing, and chatting together. 

The painter had not long to search for his domestics in the midst of the twenty or 
five-and-twenty individuals grouped pell-mell on the ground. 

He made a sign to one of them to come to him, and he immediately went up 
again into his room. 

The Indian, at the call of his master, immediately rose, in order to obey him. 

He was an Indian guaranis, still very young ; he appeared to be at the most 
twenty-four or twenty-five, with fine, bold, and intelligent features, a tall figure, of a 
robust appearance ; he wore the costume of the gauchos of the pampa, and was 
named Tyro. 

At the call of his master he had thrown away his cigarette, picked up his hat, 
gathered his poncho round him, and darted towards the staircase. 

The painter liked this young man, who, although of a taciturn disposition, ap- 
peared, nevertheless, to entertain some affection for him. 

“ Enter, and close the door behind you,” said the painter to him, in a friendly 
tone : “ we have some important things to talk about” 

“ Then, with your permission, master, I will leave the door open.” 

“ What is that caprice for ? ” 

“ ft is not a caprice, master ; all these places are rendered noiseless by the mats ; 
a spy can come and put his ear to the door and hear all that we may say ; whereas, 
if all the doors remain open, no one can enter without our seeing him, and we shall 
not risk being watched.” 


The Letter. 


2t 


“What you remark is very sensible, my good Tyro; leave the doors open, then. 
The precaution cannot do any harm, although I do not believe in spies.” 

“Does not the master believe in the night?” answered the Indian, with an em- 
phatic gesture. “The spy is like the night.” 

“ Let us come to the reason for which I have called you.” 

“ I am listening, master.” 

“ Tyro, first answer me, frankly, the question which I am about to ask you/ 

“ Let the master speak.” 

“ Are you only a good domestic, strictly performing your duties ; or a devoted 
servant, on whom I have the right to reckon at all times ? ” 

“ A devoted servant, master — a brother, a son, a friend. You cured my mother 
of a disease which appeared incurable. As to me, you have treated me as a man, 
never commanding me with rudeness, and never obliging me to do shameful or dis- 
honourable things, though I am an Indian. You have always considered me an 
intelligent being. I repeat, master, I am devoted to you in everything and for 
ever.” 

“ Thank you, Tyro,** answered the painter, with slight emotion ; “for I have need 
of your services.” 

“ I am ready ; but what is to be done ? ” 

Notwithstanding the candour of this avowal, the French painter by no means 
ntended to put the Indian completely in the confidence of his secrets. 

Too much civilisation renders us mistrustful. 

The guaranis readily perceived his hesitation. 

“ The master has nothing to teach Tyro,” said he, with a smile ; “ the Indian 
knows all.” 

“ What ! ” cried the young man, with a start of surprise ; “ you know all 1 ” 

“ Yes,” he merely said. 

“ Pardiru /” pursued the artist ; “ for the curiosity of the thing, I would not be 
sorrv if you were to inform me how far extends that ‘ all.’ ” 

“ That is easy ; let the master listen.” 

Then, to the astonishment of the young man, Tyro related to him, without omit- 
ting the least detail, all that he had done since his arrival at San Miguel. 

However, by degrees Emile, by a great effort, succeeded in regaining his coolness, 
reflecting with inward satisfaction that this recital, so complete in other respects, had 
one omission — an important omission for him ; it stopped at that very morning. 

But fearing that this omission merely arose from forgetfulness, he resolved to as- 
sure himself of it. 

“ Well,” said he, “ all that you relate is correct, but you forget to speak about my 
walks through the town.” 

“ Oh, as to that,” answered the Indian, with a smile, “ it is useless to occupy my- 
self with that. At the end of two days it was found that it was not worth while to 
follow him.” 

“The devil 1 I have been followed then ! I did not know I had friends who took 
such an interest in me. And you, no doubt, know the person who has thus played 
the spy ? ” 

“ I will tell you, when the time arrives to do so; but he is but an instrument; 
besides, if this person spies von at the command of another, I watch him, master, 
for your sake. I alone possess your secrets, so you may be easy.” 

“ What! you know mv secrets ! ” cried the painter. 

« The white rose and the letter of the Callejon de las Cruces ; but I repeat that 1 
alone know it.” 

*" This is too much ! ” murmured the young man. 

**A devoted servant,” seriously remarked the Indian, “ought to know all, so mat 


The Insurgent Chief. 




when the time comes that his assistance may be necessary, he may be in a position 
to come to his master’s aid.” 

The artist then decided on doing what most men would have decided on doing 
under similar circumstances. Seeing that there was no means of doing otherwise, 
he determined on giving his entire confidence to the Indian, and he avowed all with 

Happily for him, the painter had to do with an honest and really devoted man. 

Tyro had for a long time led the life of the gauchos, hunted the pampa, and ex- 
plored the desert in all directions. He was thoroughly acquainted with all the 
Indian schemes. Nothing would have been easier for him than to have acted as a 
guide to his m ister, and have conducted him either to Peru, Buenos Ayres, Chili, 
or even to Brazil. 

When confidence was thoroughlv established between the two men, though the 
Frenchman had at first acted with feigned candour, he was not long in displaying 
all the artless honesty of his character. He at once seriously asked the advice of his 
servant. 

“ This is what must be done,” said the latter. “This house is filled with spies. 
Pretend to put yourself in a rage with me, and dismiss me. To-morrow, at the 
time of your usual walk, I will meet you, and we will settle all. Our conversation 
has lasted too long already, master. Follow me to the door of the room, speaking 
in a loud tone, and finding fault with me ; then, in a little while, you will come 
down and dismiss me before everybody. Above all, master,” he added, “ say no- 
thing till to-morrow to the occupants of the house; do not let them suspect our 
arrangement.” 

Having so said, the Indian withdrew, his finger on his lips. All was done as 
had been arranged between master and servant. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE RECLUSES. 

Almost as half-past ten had sounded from the clock of the Cabildo of San Miguel, 
a man knocked at the door of the mysterious house. 

This individual, dressed somewhat like the well-to-do artisans of the town, was a 
man of middle height, slightly bent by age ; some few grey hairs escaped from 
under his straw hat, he wore large spectacles with iron frame, and supported himself 
on a stick. 

In a minute or two a little slide moved in a groove, and the head of an old woman 
appeared behind. 

“ Who are you ? and what do you want here, senor ? ” said a voice. 

“Senora,” answered the old man, slightly coughing, “excuse mv boldness; but I 
have heard that a professor of music is required in this establishment. If I am 
deceived, it oniy remains for ms to withdraw.” 

While the old man said these few words in the most natural tone, the woman 
behind the grating examined him with earnestness. 

Alter a short pause — 

“ Follow me,” she said, in a peevish tone, “ and replace your hat ; these corridort 
arc cold and damp.” 


The Recluses. 


*3 


The old man bowed, replaced his hat on his head, and, leaning- on his stick, he 
followed the nun with a somewhat trembling step. 

The nun led him through long corridors, which appeared to turn back upon them* 
selves, and which at last opened into a rather spacious cloister. 

The walls of this cloister, towards which opened the doors of some thirty little 
chambers, were garnished with a number of pictures of a mediocre character. 

The old man merely threw a disdainful look upon these paintings, half effaced by 
time and weather, and continued to follow the nun, who trotted on before him, caus- 
ing at every step a jingling of the heavy bunch of keys suspended to her girdle. 

At the end of this cloister there was another. Arrived nearly half-way through 
this one, the nun stopped, and aft^r having fetched her breath fora minute or two, she 
cautiously gave two slight taps at a black oak door, curiously sculptured. 

“ Adelante,” said a gentle and musical voice. 

The nun opened the outer door and disappeared, after having requested the old 
man to wait. Some minutes passed, and then the inner door opened, and the nun 
re-appeared. 

“ Come in,” said she, making a sign for him to approach. 

“ Come, she is not very loquacious, at least,” grumbled the old man to himself, as 
he obeyed. 

The nun stood on cne side to give him passage, and he entered the little room, 
whither she followed him. 

This little room, with very comfortable furniture in old black carved oak, and the 
walls of which were covered, in Spanish fashion, with thin Cordova leather, was 
divided into two, which was ind cated by a door placed in a corner. 

Three persons were, at the time, in the room, sitting on high-backed carved chairs. 

These three persons were women. 

The first, still young and very beautiful, wore the complete costume of a nun ; the 
diamond cross, suspended by a large silk ribbon from her neck, and falling on her 
breast, at once pointed her out as the superior of the house, which, notwithstanding 
the simple and sombre appearance of its exterior, was, in reality, occupied by Car- 
melite nuns. 

The two other ladies wore ordinary costume ; one was the Marchioness de Castel- 
melhor, the other Dona Eva, her daughter. 

“ My dear sister,” said the abbess, addressing the old woman, in that harmonious 
voice which had already agreeably struck the ear of the old man, “ bring, I beg you, 
a chair for this gentleman.” 

The nun obeyed, and the stranger seated himself, with an apology. 

“ So,” continued the abbess, this time addressing herself to the old man, “ you are 
a professor of music?” 

“Yes, senora,” answered he, bowing. 

“ Are you of our country ? ** 

No, senora; I am an Italian professor, and wish to get work.” 

“That is true,” pursued she, with inteiest. “Well, we will try to procure you 
some pupils.** 

“ A thousand thanks for so much goodness, senora,” he humbly answered. 

“ You really inteiest me, and to prove how much I desire to assist you, this young 
lady will be pleased, for my sake, to take this very day her lesson with you,” said 
she, pointing towards Dona Eva. 

“ 1 am at the orders of the young lady, as I am at yours, senora,” answered the 
old man. 

“ Well, that is agreed,” said the abbess; and turning towards the portress, “ My 
dear sister,” added she, with a gracious smile, “ be so good, I b"g you, as to bring 
ia some refreshments.** 




The Insurgent Chief. 


The portress bowed with a crabbed air, suddenly turned round, and left the 
room, casting a sour look around her. 

There was a silence of two or three minutes, at the expiration of which the abbess 
gently rose, advanced on tiptoe towards the door and opened it so suddenly that 
the portress, whose eye was placed at the key-hole, stood confused and blushing. 

“ Ah ! you are still there, my good sister ? ’’ said the abbess. “Iam glad of it. I 
had forgotten to beg you to bring me, when you go down to re-conduct this gentle- 
man, my Book of Hours, that I left, through forgetfulness, this morning in the choir 
in my stall." 

The portress bowed, grunting between her teeth some incomprehensible ex- 
cuses. 

The abbess followed her a moment with her eyes — and then returned. 

“ Respectable old man," she said laughing, “ cover up the locks of your fair 
hair, which are indiscreetly escaping from under your peruke.” 

“ The devil ! " cried the professor, quite taken aback, suddenly putting his two 
hands to his head, and, at the same time, letting his cane and his hat fall. 

At this unorthodox exclamation, uttered in good French, the three ladies laughed 
afresh, while the disconcerted professor looked at them with delight, not under- 
standing anything which had passed, and arguing nothing favorable to him from 
this railing and unexpected gaiety. 

“ Hush ! ” said the abbess, placing a delicate finger on her rosy lips, “ some one 
is coming." 

They were silent. 

She withdrew the curtain. Almost immediately the door opened. 

It was two lay sisters, who brought sweets and refreshments, as the abbess had 
desired. 

They placed the whole on a table and then withdrew with a respectful bow. 

The curtain was immediately dropped behind them. 

“ Do you now believe, my dear marchioness," said the superior, “ that I was 
right in mistrusting our sister, the portress ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, madame ; this woman, sold to our enemies, is wicked, and I dread 
the consequences.” 

A brilliant flash darted from the black eyes of the young woman. 

“ It is for her to tremble, madame,” said she, “ now that I have in my hand the 
proofs of her treason ; but do not let us care for that,” said she, resuming her 
cheerful countenance ; “ time presses, let us take our places at the table ; and you, 
senor, taste our preserves." 

The Marchioness, remarking the embarrassed position and the piteous air of the 
stranger, quickly approached him, and said with a gracious smile — 

“ It is useless to keep up any further disguise," said she to him ; “ it is I, senor, 
who have written to you ; speak, then, without fear before madame.” 

“ Madame,” answered the painter, breathing heavily, “ you remove an immense 
weight from my breast. I humbly confess that I did not know what countenance 
to assume in seeing myself recognised so unawares.” 

“ You are an admirable actor, senor,” pursued the abbess ; “ your hair does not 
at all come out from under your peruke ; I only wished to tease you a little. Now, 
drink, eat, and do not worry yourself about anything." 

The collation was then attacked by the four persons, between whom the ice was 
now broken, and who talked gaily to each other. The abbess especially, young 
and merry, was charmed at this trick she was playing the revolutionary authorities 
of Tacuman. 

“ Now,” said she, when the repast was finished, " let us talk seriously.” 

11 Talk seriously, I should like nothing better,” pursued the painter ; “ apropos 


The Recluses , 


*5 


of that, I shall permit myseif to recall the phrase that you have yourself uttered— 
time presses.” 

“ That *s true yon are no doubt astonished to see me, to whom has been confided 
the care of two prisoners, enter into a plot, the design of which is to permit them to 
escape.” 

“ Indeed,” murmured the painter, bowing s sc that does appear rather strange to 
me.” 

“ I have several motives for it, and your astonishment will cease when you know 
that I am a Spaniard, and have no sympathy with the revolution.” 

“ That appears to me logical enough.” 

“ Moreover, in my opinion, a convent is not — a prison. Again, women ought to 
be always placed out of the region of politics, and be left free to act in their own 
fashion. In fact, to sum up, the Marchioness de Castelmelhor is an old friend of my 
family ; I love her daughter as a sister ” 

The two ladies threw themseives into the arms of the abbess, loading her with 
caresses and thanks. 

“ Good, good,” pursued she, gently motioning them aside, * 4 let me continue ; J 
have sworn to save you, and I will save you, come what may, my dear creatures. 
It would be marvellous, indeed,” added she, smiling, ” if three women, aided by a 
Frenchman, could not be clever enough to deceive these yellow men.” 

“ The more I reflect, the more I fear the consequences for you ; I tremble, for these 
men are without pity,” murmured the marchioness. 

“ Poltroon ! ” gaily cried the superior ; 44 have we not the Caballero with us ? ” 

44 Yes, ladies, until the last gasp ! ” he cried. 

The truth is, that the beauty of Dona Eva, joined to the romance of the situation, 
had completely subjugated the artist. 

“ I knew r I was not deceived 1 ” cried the abbess, holding out her hand, which the 
painter raised to his lips. 

44 Y es, ladies,” pursued he, “ God is my witness, that all that is humanly possible 
to do to assure your flight, I will attempt; but, doubtless you have not addressed 
yourselves to me without concerting a plan.” 

“ Mon dieuy sir ! ” answered the marchioness, “this plan is very simple.” 

u I am all attention, madame.” 

“ We have no acquaintance in this town, where, without our knowing why, it 
appears we have many enemies, without reckoning one single friend.” 

“ That is pretty well my position also,” said the young man, shaking his head. 

44 Yours, sir 1 ” said she, with surprise. 

“ Yes, yes, mine, madame ; but continue, I beg.” 

44 Our good superior can do but one single thing for us — open the gates of the 
conven'.” 

44 Hum,” murmured the pain'er, like an echo. 

“ You understand how critical would be our position, wandering in a town which 
is completely unknown to us. Then we thought of you.” 

“ And you have done well, madame,” answered the painter, with animation. “ I 
am, perhaps, the only man incapable of betraying you in the whole town.” 

• 5 Thank you for my mother and myself, sir,” gently said the young girl, who had 
kept silence. 

The painter was half dazed ; the sweet and plaintive accents of that voice made his 
heart heat rapidly. 

44 Unhappily, I am very weak myself, ladies,” he resumed; “ I am alone, afoicig nfy 
guspeeced even, threatened with being placed on my trial.” 

44 Oh 5 ” said they, joining their hands in their grief, 44 we are lost then.” 
ate u / " cried tr.c abbess, 44 v/e have placea all our hope in you,” 


The Insurgent ChieJ. 


m6 


“ Wait/* pursued he; “ all is perhaps not so desperate as we suppose. As for me, 
I am preparing a plan of escape; all I can offer you is, to share my flight." 

“ Oh, willingly! ” cried the young girl, clapping her hands witn joy. 

Then, ashamed at having allowed herself to give way to a thoughtless movement^ 
she lowered her eyes. 

“ My daughter has answered you for herself and for me, air," said the ma 
chioness, proudly. 

“ I thank you for this confidence, of which I shall try to prove myself worthy, 
madame; only I want a few days to prepare everything.” 

“ That is right, sir; but what do you mean by a few days? ” 

u Three at the least — dour at the most.’’ 

“ Well, we can wait. Now, can you explain to us what is the plan you have 
adopted ? ” 

“ I do not know it myself, madame. I find myself in a country which is totally 
unknown to me, and in which I naturally want the commonest experience. I must 
trust to the direction of my servant.” 

“ Are you quite sure of this man, sir ? Pardon me for saying this, but you know 
one word might ruin us.” 

“ 1 am as sure of the person in question as a man can be. It is he who has fur- 
nished me with the means of appearing before you without awakening suspicion.’* 

“ Is he a Spaniard, a foreigner, or a half-caste ? ” 

“ He is simply an Indian guaranis, to whom I have been fortunate enough to 
render some slight service.” 

‘‘ You are right, sir ; you can no doubt reckon on this man. The Indians are brave 
and faithful ; when they are devoted, it is to the death. Pardon me all these ques- 
tions.” 

“ 1 think it is very natural, madame, that you should desire to be completely in- 
formed as to my plans for our common safety. Be thoroughly persuaded that when 
I shall positively know what must be done, I will hasten to inform you of it.” 

“Thank you, sir; will you permit me to ask you one question more ? ” 

“Speak, madame. In coming here, I place myself entirely at your orders.” 

“ Are you rich ? ” 

The painter blushed ; his eyebrows knitted. 

“ Oh, you do not understand me, sir,” the marchioness eagerly cried ; “ far from 
one be the thought of offering you a reward. The service that you consent to render 
us is one of those that no treasure could pay for.” 

“ Madame ” he murmured. 

“ Permit me to finish. We are associates now,” said she, with a charming smile. 
** Now, in an association each one ought to take a share of the common expenses. 
A project like ours must be conducted with skill and celerity ; a miserable question 
of money might mar its success or retard its execution. In that sense, I repeat my 
words — are you rich ? ” 

“In any oth-r position but that in which fate has temporarily placed me, I should 
answer you — yes, madame, tor I am an artist. But at this moment, in the peri- 
lous position in which you and I find ourselves — when it is necessary to undertake 
a desperate struggle against a whole population — I must be trank witn you, and 
admit that money, the sinews ot war, almost wholly fails me.” 

“ So much the better ! ” cried the marchioness, with a movement of joy. 

“ Upon my word,” pursued he, gaily. “I never complain; it is only now that l 
begin to regret those riches for which 1 have always cared so lirtle.” 

*' Do not distress yourself about that, sir. In tnis affair you bring courage and 
devotion; leave me to bring that money which you have not.” 

“ On my word, madame,” answered the artist, “ since you so frankly pri tha 


The Recluses. 


*7 


question, I accept, then, the money that you shall consider fitting to place at my 
disposal ; but, of course, I shall render you an account of it.” 

“ Pardon, sir ; it is not a loan that I offer to make you ; it is my part in the asso- 
ciation.” 

“ 1 understand it so ; only if I spend your money, will it not be necessary that 
you should know in what way ? ’’ 

“ Well and good ! ” exclaimed the marchioness, going to a piece of furniture, of 
which she opened a drawer, from whence she took a rather long purse. 

After having carefully closed the drawer, she presented the purse to the young 
man. 

“ There are there two hundred and fifty onces* in gold,” said she ; “ I hope that 
that sum will suffice.” 

“ Oh, oh ! madame, I hope not only that it will suffice, but that I shall have to 
give you back a pait of this sum,” answered he, respectfully taking the purse, and 
placing it carefully in his girdle. I have now a restitution to make you.” 

“ To me, sir ? ” 

“ Yes, madame,” said he, drawing off the ring that he had placed on his little 
finger, “ this ring.” 

“ It is mine, that I wrapped up in the letter,” eagerly exclaimed the young 
girl. 

The young man bowed, quite confounded. 

“ Keep that ring, sir,” answered tne marchioness ; “ my daughter would be vexed 
if you returned it.” 

“ I will keep it, then,” said he, with secret joy ; “ I will only come once more, 
ladies,” said he, “ in order not to arouse suspicion ; that will be to tell you when all 
is ready ; only every day, at my usual hour, I will pass before this house. When, 
in tfe evening, on my return towards home, you shall see me holding a suchil flower 
or a white rose in mv hand, that wiil be a sign that our business proceeds well ; if, 
on the contrary, 1 remove my hat and wipe my forehead, then pray to God, ladies, 
because new embarrassments will have risen. In the last place, if you see me pull- 
ing asunder the flower that I hold in my hand, you must hasten your preparations 
for departure ; the very day of my visit we shall quit the town.” 

“Never fear,” said the marchioness; “we shall forget nothing.” 

“ Now, n<;t another word ; give your music lesson,” said the abbess. 

The painter seated himself at a table, and began to explain to them as well as he 
could the mysteries of black, of white, of crotchets, and of minims. 

When, some minutes afterwards, the portress entered, she perceived three persons 
apparently very seriously occupied in estimating the vaiue of notes, and the difference 
between the key of F and the key of G. 

“ My holy mother,” hypocritically said the portress, “a horseman, saying that he 
is sent by the governor of the town, asks the favour of an interview with you.” 

“ Very good, my sister. When you have re-conducted this gentleman, you will 
introduce this caballero to me.” 

The painter rose, bowed respectfully to the ladies, and followed the portress. 

Without mtering a word, the portress guided him through the corridors that hehai 
already traversed, as far as the gate of the convent, before which several horsemen, 
enveloped in long mantles, had stopped, to the general astonishment of the neigh- 
bours. 

The painter, thanks to bis looking like an old man, his little dry cough, and his 
trembling walk, passed in the midst of them without attracting their attention. 

The portress made a sign to one of the horsemen, that she was ready to conJuct 
him to the supexior. 


•.4850 sterling. 


i8 


The Insurgent Chief. 


Just at that moment, the painter, who had gone some little distance, turned to give 
a last look. 

He suppressed a gesture of fright on recognising the horseman of whom we are 
speaking. 

“Zeno Cabral l ” murmured he. “ What does this man do in the convent i ° 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE INTERVIEW. 

The French painter was not deceived. It was indeed Zeno Cabral, the Montonero 
chief. 

The portress walked with a hasty step, without turning her head, before the young 
man, who appeared plunged in sorrowful and painful reflections. 

They proceeded thus for a considerable time through the corridors, without 
exchanging a word ; but at the moment when they had reached the entry of the first 
cloister, the chief stopped, and lightly touching the arm of his conductress— 

“ Well ? ” said he, in a low voice. 

The latter turned briskly, threw an inquiring look around her, and answered, in 
the same low and stifled tone, the single word — 

“ Nothing.” 

“ How nothing? *’ cried Don Zeno with suppressed impatience. 

“ I have watched,” answered she, eagerly ; “ watched from evening to morning, 
and have discovered nothing.” 

“ So much the worse,” said the Montonero, coldly ; “ so much the worse for you, 
my sister; for if you are so little clear-sighted, it is not just yet that you will quit 
your post of portress for a superior employment.” 

The portress trembled ; her little grey eyes gave a sinister look. 

“ I have discovered nothing, it is true,” said she, with a dry and nervous laugh ; 
“ but I suspect, and s on I shall discover.” 

“ Ah ! and what shall you discover? ” asked he, with ill-concealed interest. 

“ I shall discov r,” she pursued, “ all that you wish to know, and more, too.” 

“ Ah, ah ! ” said he, “ and when will that be, if you please ? ” 

“ Befoie two days; but now, come, they expect you. This long stay may excito 
suspicion ; more than ever, prudence is necessary. 1 ’ 

They proceeded. At the moment when they entered the first cloister, a black 
figure came away from an obscure corner, where, until that moment, it had remaine 1 
shrouded in darkness ; and, after having made a threatening gesture to the portres-, 
vanished like a fantastic apparition. 

Arrived at the door of the superior's room, the portress knocked gently twice wjeu- 
out receiving any answer ; she waited a moment, fid then knocked again. 

“ Adelante ,” was then answered from within. 

She opened the door, and announced the stranger. 

” Beg the gentleman to enter; he is welcome,” answered the abbess. 

The portress disappeared, and the general entered; then, on a sign from cGO 
superior, the portress withdrew, closing th? doo* behind her. 

The superior was alone. 


The fnlerieiv. 


»0 


At the entry of the young man she slightly inclined her head, and, with a 
directed him to a seat. 

° Pardon me, madame/* said he, bowing, “ for thus disturbing your pious medi<a- 
dors.” 

“ V ou are sent to me by the governor of the town,” pursued she, in a tone r ' I 
politeness. “You have no apologies to make me, but only to explain the reason i r 
this visit.” 

“ I am about to have the honour of explaining myself, madame,” answered he, 
with a smile, taking the seat which she had pointed out. 

There was a silence of two or three minutes. 

The Montonero turned and re-turned his hat in his hands with a vexed air; while 
the abbess pretended to read a book. 

The officer, feeling how strange his silence would appear, commenced the omv r- 
sation with an ease which was too marked to be natural. 

“ Senora, I do not know what causes the displeasure that you appear to 1 iv» in 
seeing me.” 

“ Y ou are in error, caballero ,** answered she, “ as to the meaning l attach to 
words. I do not feel any annoyance, believe me, at your presence ; only I ar v xnd 
at being obliged to receive, without being prepared for it beforehand, the v s ts 4 
envoys, whose place should be any where else than in the room of the superior r>* i 
convent of women.” 

/‘That observation is perfectly just, madame. Unhappily, it is a necessity to wmei 
you must submit.” 

“ So/’ resumed she, with some sharpness, “you see that I submit to it.’* 

“ You submit to it — yes, madame,” he pursued, in an insinuating tone. “ l.vst 
complaining at it, because you confound your friends with your enemies.” 

“ I, senor! You make a mistake, no doubt/’ said she, with compunction; “ von 
do not reflect on who I am. What friends or enemies can I have? ” 

“ You deceive you i self, or, which is more probable — you do not wish to un^Vistasd 
me. ’ 

“ Perhaps, also, it is a little your fault, senor,” she resumed, with a silgbt tin-e 
of irony* “ owing to the obscurity in which your words are enveloped.’’ 

“ Come, madame,’’ said Don Zeno, after a pause, “ let us be candid. Y ou ha*e 
here two prisoners ? ” 

“ I have two ladies that ! have received into this house on the express injun-Xkm at 
the governor. Is it of these two ladies that you speak ? *’ 

“ Yes, senora, the same.” 

“ These iadirs have nothing, that ! can see, to do with this conversation.” 

“ On the contrary, madame, it is on their account alone that I come here.” 

“Very well, senor, continue; I am listening.” 

“I am about to explain my connection with these persons. To understa id tn% 
you must hear a rather prolix story.” 

“ My time is yours.” 

“You overwhelm me, senora, and I thank you. My family is of Poitugo st 
origin. My ancestor, Alvarez Cabral, after a quarrel with the Viceroy of dnzii . 
found his property seized. My great-grandfather took refuge in Buenos Ayr s. un 
his death-bed he revealed to my grandfather and my father a secret of great impm. 
Ance; in a word, he stated to them that some time before his exile, in the ln>r exp - 
dition that he had made, according to his custom, he had discovered diamoc ! mi »<•. 
and deposits of goldof incalculable value. He entered into the minutest deta; s as 
the route that was to be followed to discover the country where these unknown iic;u * 
were hidden ; gave to my grandfather a map traced by himself on the very spot, a/ id 
added, for fear that my grandfather should forget any important detail, a bundle d 


20 


The Insurgent Chief. 


manuscripts, in which the history of his expedition and of his discovery were related 
as a diary; then, certain that this fortune which he had left would not he lost to 
them, he gave his children his blessing, and died almost immediately.” 

“ I do not yet see, sir, what relation there is between this history, and these two uni 
fortunate ladies,” interrupted the abbess, shaking her head. 

“ Some years passed,” Don Zeno resumed ; “ my grandfather was at the head of 
the vast chacra occupied by our family, my father was beginning to aid him. He 
had a sister beautiful and pure as an angel. She was named Laura ; her father 
and brother loved her to adoration ; she was their joy and pride.** 

“This souvenir afficts you, senor,” said the abbess. 

The young man proudly nerved himself. 

“ I have promised to tell you the truth, madam. My grandfather had placed the 
manuscript and the map in a place known only to himself and his daughter. One 
day a foreigner asked for hospitality, saying he belonged to a noble Portuguese 
family. My father received him with open arms. One day the stranger disappeared, 
carrying away my sister. Every search was useless. This man had somehow 
discovered my great-grandfather’s secret. The odious elopement did not proceed 
from love.” 

“ Then,’* interrupted the abbess, u why did he carry her off? ’* 

“Because he believed that she possessed the secret that he wished to discover; 
that, madame, was the only motive for the crime.” 

“ What you tell me is infamous, senor,” cried the abbess; “this man was a 
demon.’* 

“ No, madame, he was a wretch devoured by the thirst for riches, and who, at any 
price, determined to possess them, even if to do so he had to bring dishonour and 
shame into a family.” 

“ Oh ! ” she gasped, hi ling her head in her han ds. 

“ Now, madame, do you wish to know the name of this man ? ** he pursued, with 
bitterness; “ but it is needless, is it not? for you have already guessed.” 

“ But why render the innocent,” said the abbess, “ reponsible for crimes com- 
mitted by others ? ” 

“ Because, madame— an inheritor of the paternal hatred for twenty years — it is 
only a fortnight ago that I have again found a trace that I thought was lost for 
ever ; that the name of our enemy has, like a thunderclap, suddenly burst on my 
ear.” 

“ So to satisfy a vengeance which might be just, brought to bear on the guilty, 
you would be cruel ” 

“ I do not know yet what I shall do, madame. My head is on fire; fury carries 
me away,” interrupted he, with violence. “This man has stolen our happiness; I 
wish to take away his ; it is between us a war of wild beasts.” 

At this moment the door of the adjoining room opened suddenly, and the 
marchioness suddenly appeared. 

“ A war of wild beasts let it be, caballero ; I accept it.” 

The young man rose abruptly, and darting a look of crushing scorn at the 
Superior : 

“ Ah 1 I have been listened to,*’ said he, with irony ; “ well, so much the better, I 
prefer it to be so. You know now, madame, the cause of the hatred that I bear 
towards your husband.” 

“My husband is a noble caballero, who, if he were present, would wither the 
odious tissue of lies by which you have not scrupled to accuse him before a person,” 
added she, “ who would not, perhaps, have believed this frightful tale, the lalsity of 
which is too easy to prove for it to be necessary to refute it.” 

“ Be it so, madame ; this insult, coming from you, cannot affect me ; a time will 


The Interview, 


21 


come, when the truth will be declared, and when the criminal will be unmasked 
before you.” 

44 There are men, senor, whom calumny, however skilfully concocted, cannot 
reach,” she answered. 

44 Let us cease this ; I am not your enemy.” 

44 But what are you then, and for what reason have you related this horrible 
Story ? ” 

41 If you had had the patience to listen to me a few minutes more, madame, 
you would have learned.” 

44 What prevents you telling' me, now that we are face to face? ” 

44 1 will tell you if you desire it, madame,” replied he, coldly. 44 1 should have 
preferred, however, that some other person should perform this task.” 

44 No, no, sir ; I am myself a Portuguese, and my principle is to act for myself.” 

44 As you please, madame ; I was about to ask you to give me your word not to 
quit this town without my authority, and not to try and communicate with your 
husband.” 

44 Ah 1 And if I had made this promise?” 

“Then, madame, 1 should, in return, have freed vou from the accusation which 
weighs upon you, and should immediately have obtained your liberty.” 

4 * Liberty to be a prisoner in a town, instead of in a convent 1 ” said she, with 
irony ; “you are generous, senor.” 

44 But you would not have had to appear before a council of war.” 

44 That is true; I forgot that you and yours make war on women — especially on 
women.” 

41 1 wait your answer,” aid the young man. 

44 Caballero ,” resumed the marchioness, in a haughty voice, 44 to accept the pro* 
position you make me would be to admit the possibility of the truth of the odious 
accusation that you dare to bring against my husband.” 

44 1 expected that answer, madame, although it afflicts me more than you can 
suppose. Y ou have, no doubt, well reflected ? ” 

44 On all — yes, senor.” 

44 You are not alone, madame ; you have a daughter.” 

44 Sir,” she answered, with an accent of supreme hauteur , 44 my daughter knows 
well what she owes to the honour of her house.” 

44 Oh, madame 1 ” 

44 Do not try to frighten me, senor; you will not succeed. My determination is 
taken. Men deceive themselves, if they think they alone possess the privilege of 
courage. It is good, from time to time, for a woman to show that they also know 
how to die for their convictions.” 

The Montoncro bowed silently, made a few steps towards the door, stopped, and 
half turned as if he wished to speak; but, altering his mind, he bowed a last time 
and went out. 

The marchioness remained an instant motionless ; then, turning towards the 
abbess, and extending her arms to her — 

44 And now, my friend,” said she to her, with a sorrow-ful voice, 44 do you believe 
that the Marquis de Castelmelhor is guilty of the frightful crimes of which that nan 
accuses him ? ” 

“Oh, no, no, my friend,” cried the superior, melting into tears, and falling into 
the arms which opened to receive her. 


CHAPTER V. 


THP PREPARATIONS OF TYRO. 

Xv v.’flis with a quick and deliberate step that the painter rejoined Tyro at the sir* f 
which the latter had assigned as a permanent rendezvous. 

I ne place was well chosen ; it was a natural grotto, not very deep, situated at two 
pistol-shots or so from the town, so well concealed from curious eyes by the chaos o 
reels’ s, and of thickets of parasitic plants, that, unless the exact position of this grotto 
wfie known, it was impossible to discover it — so much the more, as its mouth 
opened on to the river, and that to enter it, it was necessary to go into the water up to 
the knees. 

Tyro, half-lying on a mass of dry leaves, covered with two or three Arancanian 
pel! )nes * and ponchos, was carelessly smoking a cigarette of maize straw, while he 
wa-ted for his master. 

r i he latter, after being assured that no one was watching him. removed his shoes, 
tucked up his trousers, went into the water, and entered the grotto. 

“ Ouf ! ” said he, “ a singular fashion this of coming into one’s house. Here am 
1 returned. Tyro.” 

1 see, master/* gravely answered the Indian, without changing his position. 

“ Now,” pursued the young man, “ let me resume my clothes, and then we can 
ta k. 1 have much to tell you/* 

And he immediately proceeded to abandon his disguise, and soon he had recovered 
Iiis ordinary appearance. 

“There — that’s done ? ” said he, sitting near the Indian. “I tell you that this 
disgusting costume annoys me horribly, and I shall be happy when I shall be able 
to pet rid of it altogether.*’ 

“ That will be soon, I hope, master.’* 

“ And I also, my friend. Now, what have you to tell me? Speak, I am 

listening/’ 

• But you — have you not told me you have news ? ” 

‘ That is true ; but 1 am anxious to know what you have to tell me. So speak.” 

‘ As you please, master,” answered the Indian, throwing away his cigarette; 
t ! 'en, half-turning his head towards the young man, and locking him full in the 

la c * *— 

‘ Are you brave ? ** he asked. 

'this question, put so suddenly unawares, caused such a profound surprise to the 
.par ter, that he hesitated an instant. 

*' Well,” he at last answered, u l believe so; but, my good Tyro, bravery is in 
France so common a virtue, that there is no conceit on my part in asserting that 1 
possess it.” 

“ Good 1 ” murmured the Indian, “you are brave, master; and so am I, I believe ; 
1 h ve seen you in several circumstances conduct yourself very well.” 

Then why ask me this question ? ” said the painter. 

“ Do not be angry, master,” quickly replied the Indian, “ my intentions are good. 
You are a Frenchman — that is to say, a foreigner, not long in this country, of the 
customs of which you are completely ignorant.’* 

“ l admit that.” interrupted she young man. 

*■ l* 1 asliiu £ >'«u» then, if you are brave, I do not doubt yt>us courage, only l wish 
‘Sheepskins dyed and prepared* 


The Preparations of Tyro. 


*3 


to know if this courage is white or red ; if it shines as much in darkness and solitude 
as in broad daylight.” 

“ Thus put, I understand the question, but I do not know how to answer it. I can 
simply, and in all confidence, assure you of this — that day or night, alone or in 
company, in default of bravery, pride would always prevent me from retreating.*' 

“ I thank you for that assurance, master, for our task will be arduous.” 

“ You can count on my word, Tyro,” answered the painter ; “ so, banish all after* 
thoughts.” 

“ That I will do, master, you may depend. Now, let us leave that, and come to 
the news.” 

“ J ust so,” said the painter ; “ what is this news ? ” 

** Do you know that the Spanish officers whom they were going to try have 
escaped ? ” 

“ Escaped ! ” cried the painter, “ when ? ” 

H This very morning ; they passed near here scarcely two hours ago, mounted on 
horses of the pampas.” 

“ Upon my word, so much the better for them — I am delighted at it, for, as matters 
go in this country, they would have been shot.’* 

“ They would have been shot certainly,” said the Indian, nodding his head. 

“That would have been a pity,” said the young man. “ Although I know very 
little about them, and they have placed me in a rather difficult position, I should have 
been sorry. So you are certain that they have really escaped ? ” 

“ Master, I have seen them.” 

** Then, bon vovage ! ” 

“ Do you not fear that this flight may be prejudicial ? ” 

“ To me ! Why ? ” cried he, with surprise. 

“ Have you not been implicated in their affairs ? ’* 

“ That is true, but I believe I have nothing to fear now.” 

” So much the better, master ; however, if I may give you advice — believe me, be 
prudent.'* 

“ Come, talk candidly. I see behind your Indian circumlocutions a serious 
thought.” 

“ Since you demand it, master, I will explain myself. The flight of the two 
Spanish officers has awakened suspicions which were but suppressed ; and now they 
accuse you of having encouraged them in their project of flight.” 

“ Why, that is impossible! ” 

“ I know it, master ; however, it is as I say.*' 

u Then my position becomes extremely delicate; I do not know what to do.” 
u I have thought of that ; we Indians form a population apart in the town. Dis- 
liked by the Spaniards, scorned by the creoles, we sustain one another, in order to be 
in a position to resist any injustice. Since I have occupied myself with preparations 
»or your journey, I have communicated with several men of my tribe, engaged in 
the families of certain persons in the town, in order to be informed of all that passes, 
and to warn you against treachery. I knew yesterday that the Spanish officers were 
going to escape. For several days, aided by their friends, they have planned their 
flight.” 

“ I do not yet see,’’ interrupted the painter, “ the relation between this flight and 
myself personally.’’ 

“ Wait, master,” pursued the Indian, “ I am coming to that. This morning, the 
news of the flight of the officers was already known — evervbody was talking of it. 
I mixed myself in several groups, where this flight was commented on* Your namo 
was in every mouth.” 

** But I knew nothing of this flight.” * 


The Insurgent Chief. 


*4 


«* I know it well, master ; but you have an enemy determined on your ruin who 
has spread abroad this report.” 

“ An enemy ! ” said the young man ; “ impossible ! ” 

The Indian smiled sarcastically. 

“ Soon you will know it, master,” said he; “ but it is you we must think of— you 
that we must save.” 

The young man shook his head sadly. 

“ No,” said he, with a sad voice ; “ I see that I am really lost this time ; better 
resign myself to my fate.” 

The Indian looked at him for some moments with an astonishment that he did 
not seek to dissimulate. 

“ Was I not right master.” he resumed at last, “ to ask you at the commence- 
ment of this conversation, if you had courage ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” cried the young man, suddenly collecting himself. “ I do 
not understand you.” 

“ Pardon me, master, for teaching you things of which you are ignorant. There 
is a courage that you must acquire — it is that which consists in appearing to give in 
when the strife is unequal — reserving yourself, while you feign flight, to take your 
revenge later. Y our enemies have an immense advantage over you ; they know you ; 
they therefore act against you with certainty, while you do not know them.” 

“ What you say is full of sense, Tyro; only you speak to me in enigmas. Who 
are these enemies ? ” 

“ I cannot yet tell you their names, master ; but have patience.” 

“ Have patience I — it’s very well to say that. Unhappily, I am up to my neck in 
a trap.” 

“ Leave it to me, master ; I will answer for all. You will escape more easily than 
you think.” 

“ Hum 1 that appears to me very difficult.” 

“ All the whites are like this,” murmured the Indian, as if he were speaking to 
himself ; “ in appearance their conformation is the same as our own, and, neverthe- 
less, they are completely incapable of doing the least thing by themselves.” 

“ It is possible,” answered the young man. 

There was a short interval of silence between the two men, and then the Indian 
resumed. 

“ Master,” said he, “as soon as I was informed of what had passed, convinced 
that I should not be unsupported by you, I laid my plans. My first care was to go 
to your house. They know me ; the greater part of the attendants are my friends. 

I was free to go and come as I liked, without attracting attention. I then took ad- 
vantage of a time when the house was almost deserted, to carry away all that belongs 
to you, even to your horses, which I loaded with your baggage, and your boxes full 
of papers and linen.” 

“ Well,” interrupted the young man, with a satisfaction clouded by slight anxiety; 
44 but what will my countryman think of this proceeding? ” 

“ Do not let that distress you, master.” 

“ Be it so ; you no doubt found a plausible pretext.” 

“ That is just it,” said he, with a chuckle. 

“Very well ; but now tell me, Tyro ; what have you done with this baggage? I 
should by no means like to lose it — it contains the best part of my fortune. I can- 
not camp out in the open air, more especially as that would avail me nothing ; on the 
other hand, I can scarcely see in what house I can lodge.” 

The Indian laughed. 

“ Eh ! eh ! ” gaily said the young man. “ As you laugh, it is, perhaps, bee**® 
my affairs go on well * 


The Preparations of Tyro. 


*5 


“ Y ou are wrong, master. I am immediately going to seek some spot where you 
will be safe.” 

“ The devil ! that is not so easy to fi nd in the town.” 

“ But it is not in the town that I look for it.” 

“Oh, oh 1 where then ? I scarcely see that there is any place in the country.’* 

“That is because you do not, like we Indians, understand tne desert. About two 
miles from here, in a rancho of the Guaranis Indians, I have found an asylum.” 

“ You strangely pique my curiosity. Is everything prepared to receive me ? ” 

“Yes, master.” 

“ Why do we then remain here ? ” 

“ Because, master, the sun has not yet set, and it is too light to venture into the 
countiy.” 

“ Y ou are right, my brave Tyro ; I thank you for this new service.” 

“ I have only done my duty, master.” 

“ Hum ! Well, since you wish it, I consent. Only, believe that I am not ungrate- 
ful. So that is agreed. I am unhoused. My dear compatriot will be much 
astonished when he finds that I have left without taking leave of him.” 

The Indian laughed, without answering. 

“ Unhappily, my friend,” continued the young man, “ this position is very pre- 
carious.” 

“Depend upon me, master; before three days we shall have set out. All my 
measures are taken accordingly. My preparations would have been finished already, 
if I had had at my disposal a sufficient sum to purchase some indispensable things.” 

“ Do not let that disturb you,” cried the young man, putting his hand into his 
pocket, and drawing from it the purse which the marchioness had given him. 

“ Oh 1 ” said the Indian, with joy, “ there is much more than we want.” 

But suddenly the painter became sad, and took the purse again from the hands of 
the guaranis. 

“ 1 am mad,” said he. “ We cannot use that money, it is not ours; we have no 
right to make use ot it.” 

Tyro looked at him with surprise. 

“ Yes,” continued he, genth snaking his head, “this sum has been given to me 
by the person whom I have promised to save.” 

“ Well! ” said the Indian. 

“ Why, now,” resumed the young man, “ the affair appears to me to be quite 
altered.” 

“Your situation is just the same, master; you can keep the wotd that you have 
given. I have foreseen all.” 

“Come, explain yourself; for I begin no longer to understand you at all.” 

“ Do not let that distress you. I only know as much about your affairs as I ought 
to know, to be useful to you in case of need, and to be in a position to prove to you 
what is my uevotion for you. Moreover, if you wish it, I will appear to know nothing.” 

“ That is a good joke ! ” exclaimed the young man, laughing. “ Come, since it 
is not even possible to keep my secrets to myself, act as you like.” 

“ Oniy give me this gold, and leave me to act.” 

“ Well, 1 think that is the best ; take it then,” added he, putting the purse in his 
hand ; “ only, make haste.” 

“ Oh I just now nothing presses. They believe you are gone ; they are searching 
;or you far away.” 

“That is true. If it only concerned myself, upon my word I have so great a con- 
fidence in my own skill, that I should not hurry myself at all, I assure you.” 

“ Yes,” he interrupted, “ 1 know what you wish to say, master. These ladies are 
Cuxtous to be off, and they are right. I oniy ask two days ; is that too much / M 


The Insurgent Chief, 


%*> 


“No, certainly; only I confess there is one thing- which much embarrasses me at 
present, and that is how I shall introduce myself into the convent to warn them.” 

“ That is very simple ; you will go in the convent in the same disguise that you 
assumed yesterday.” 

Hum ! You think that is not risking too much ? ” 

“Not the least in the world, master. Who will care to concern himself about a 
poor old man? ” 

“ Well, I will try ; if I fail, I shall have done my duty.” 

The more the young Frenchman became intimately acquainted with the guaranis, 
the more he discovered intelligence in this poor Indian, so simple and so artless in 
appearance, and the more he congratulated himself on having trusted him. 

About half-an-hour after sunset, the two men quitted the grotto. 

The Indian, who, notwithstanding the darkness, appeared to see as if it were broad 
daylight, guided his master through the intricate paths, apparently inextricable, but 
through which he proceeded with a certainty which indicated a complete knowledge 
of the places which he traversed. 

The journey from the grotto to the place where they were to stay was short — it did 
not last longer than three-quarters of an hour. 

Tyro stopped before a rancho of a sufficiently miserable aspect, built on the summit 
of a hill. He opened a door formed of an ox-hide stretched over a hurdle of willow. 

The Indian struck a light with his flint and steel, and lit a lamp. 

The interior of the rancho resembled the exterior, and was very miserable. 

“ Eh ?” said Emile, casting a scrutinising look round him, “this rancho is aban- 
doned, then ? ” 

By no means, master,** answered Tyro ; “ but the occupants have withdrawn 
into the other room.’* 

“ Oh ! oh 1 And for why ? ” 

“ Simply because, if they should come to look for us here, they could with a good 
conscience affirm that they have not seen you.’* 

“ Ha, ha, ha 1 ’* laughed the young man, “ that is very good of them, good 
people that they arel Well, I see with pleasure that the Jesuits make good pupils 
as w-ell in America as in Europe.” 

Tyro did not answer. He was in the act of removing with a pickaxe a slight 
layer of earth, under which soon appeared a trap-door. The Indian lifted it up. 

“ Come, master,’’ said he. 

“ The devil ! ” murmured the young man, with some hesitation, “ am I going to 
be buried alive ? ” 

Tt.e Indian had already disappeared in the opening left gaping by the removal of 
the trap-door. 

“ Come,” said the young man, “ there is no time to hesitate.” 

He leant over the hole, perceived the first steps of a ladder, and boldly descended 
into the cave, where Tyro awaited him, the lamp being held towards him, to give 
him light, and prevent a false step. 

This cavern was rather large and high, and completely furnished with palm-mats 
to absorb the moisture. All the baggage of the young man had been brought here, 
and was ranged with care. 

A washing-stand, a couch, a table, and a hammock, hung in a corner, completed 
the simple furniture of the place. 

Several candles and a lamp were placed on the table. 

At each end of the cavern, the form of which was nearly oval, were galleries. 

“ Here is our temporary apartment, master,” said the guaranis; “each of these 
galleries is carried, after a few turns, a good way into the country. In case of 
alarm, you have a safe retreat ; your horses have been placed by me in the gallery 


Complications. 


2 7 


to the left; they have a l they want. In this basket you will find provisions fot 
three days, i ou have only to be patient.” 

VV hile he thus spoke, the Indian had taken from the basket, and spread on the 
table, after having lit the lamp, provisions for the supper, of which the painter, who 
had fasted since he left the convent, began to feel the necessity. 

Now, master, I am going up into the rancho, to put everything in order, and to 
spith^’^ traCCS ° ur movements - Good-bye, for the present, and keep up your 

Thank you, Tyro : but, in the name of heaven, remember that I trust entirely to 
you.” 

Depend on me, master. Ah ! I forgot to tell you that when I return, it will be 
by the gallery to the right. I shall imitate the cry of the owl three times before 
entering.” 

“ Well, I will remember. Will you not keep company with me, and have supper? ” 

“ Thank you, master, that is impossible.” 

u Well, do as you wish,” answered the painter, suppressing a sigh ; “ I will not 
detain vou any more.” 

The Indian remounted the ladder, disappeared through the opening, and, after 
having again bidden adieu to his master, reclosed the trap-door. 


CHAPTER VI. 

COMPLICATIONS. 

Thb same day on which transpired the various events which we have related in our 
preceding chapters, about nine o’clock in the evening, two persons were seated in 
the room of the Duke de Montone. These two persons were the Duke de Montone 
himself, or M. Dubois, as he wished to be called, and the other General Don Eusebio 
Moratin, governor of the town of San Miguel. 

General Moratin was about forty-one; he was short, but stout and well-built. 
His features would have been handsome, had it not been for the expression of cold 
calculation in his black and deeply sunken eyes. 

This officer, whose memory is justly execrated, was born in 1770, at Monte Video. 
He was a pure gauchos, with all the savage independence and ferocity o: the race. 
He had been for many years the captain of a band of assassins. 

Although as a creole he had a sovereign contempt for everything foreign, and 
especially European, he spoke English and French very well— not from a liking to 
these languages, but from necessity, and in order to facilitate, bv an apparent love 
of liberty, and the support of the great European powers, the ambitious views that he 
concealed in his heart. 

The general, who had for some minutes been striding about the room, turned sud- 
denly — 

“ Bah ! bah ! ” said he, in a sharp voice; “ I repeat, Monsieur le Due, that your 
£eno Cabral is but an arrant simpleton.” 

“Allow me, general ” objected the Frenchman. 

“ Come,” he resumed, with violence. “ be a politician 1 One must be mad to think 
80 . A Montonero chief, who thinks of 'ailing in love — of becoming sentimental ! is 


The Insurgent Chief, 


a8 


it thus that he acts ? Eh t mon dieu ! If the girl pleases him, let him take her! 
That’s as simple as 4 good day,’ and does not require much diplomacy. I have ex- 
perience in those matters myself. Do not speak to me any more of this man ; there 
is nothing to be done with him.” 

The duke had listened to this impassioned outburst with coolness. 

When the general had finished, he looked at him for a time, with a slightly mock- 
ing air, and then taking up the conversation — 

“All that is very well, general,” said he; “ but this is, after all, only your indi- 
vidual opinion, is it not? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Don Eusebio. 

44 You would be very little pleased, I imagine,” resumed he, smiling, “if the wotds 
you have just uttered were repeated to Don Zeno Cabral.” 

“ I admit ” said the general, “that I should be annoyed at it.” 

“Then,” resumed the duke, “of what use is it to s.iy things which one day or 
other you might regret ? ” 

“ You are right, my dear duke,” said the general, laughing : “ consider that I 
have said not ing.” 

“ That is right, general — especially as at this moment you have the most pressing 
need of Don Zeno Cabral and his squadron.’ 1 

44 That is true; unhappily, I cannot do without him.” 

44 A charming way of inspiring his confidence, to treat him as a simpleton 1 ” 

44 Oh, forget that, and let us come, if you please, to business. I should like that 
everything was decided upon between us before he comes.” 

The Frenchman looked at the clock. 

“ We have still twenty minutes,” said he; “that is more than necessary to decide 
upon everything. Now, what is your project ? ” 

44 To have myself declared president of tne republic,” he exclaimed, with violence. 

44 That is an additional consideration,” interrupted the duke; 44 the best fish are 
always found in troubled water.” 

44 To say that to me,” said the general, with a burst of laughter ; 44 1 have never 
fished in any other but troubled water.” 

“ Weil, if you have succeeded up to the present time, you must continue.” 

44 1 should like to do so, but how ? ” 

The duke appeared to reflect seriously for some minutes, while the general looked 
at him anxiously.” 

44 See how unjust you are, my dear general,” at last resumed the duke ; 44 it is just 
this love of Don Zeno for the daughter of the Marchioness de Castelmelhor — a love 
that you have spoken of so bitterly — that will furnish you with those means you 
have been unsuccessfully seeking.” 

44 1 do not understand the least in the world what relation there can be between ” 

44 Patience 1 ” interrupted the diplomatist. 44 What do you wish first? the imme- 
diate removal of Don Zeno Cabral, who, loved and respected by all as he is, can by 
his presence influence the votes of the deputies who are invited at this moment in the 
town to proclaim independence and elect a president.” 

44 Just so ; but Don Zeno will not consent, under any pretence, to go away.” 

The diplomatist slightly sneered, casting a look of pity on his companion. 

44 General,” said he, 44 have you ever been in love ? ” 

44 1 ! ” cried Don Eusebio, 44 you are jesting.” 

44 Not the least in the world,” answered he, calmly. 

“To the devil with such a silly question 1” 

44 Not so silly as you suppose, general, I repeat. Have you, or have you not, 
been in love ? ” 

Well, I have never been in love.” 


Complications. 


ag 


** Well, that’s just the difference between you and Don Zeno Cabral, that he is in 
love.” 

“ Parditu ! the g-ood and important news that you tell me, my dear duke 1 but 
the conclusion 1 ” cried the general, stamping with impatience. 

“The contusion is, that by exciting this love, we shall biing about the result we 
desire,” calmly responded the duke. 

“ Well, you hardly explain yourself,” resumed the general. 

At that moment the door was opened wide, and a servant, dressed in a splendid 
livery, announced — 

“ His Excellency General Don Zeno Cabral.” 

T he two men exchanged a rapid look of intelligence, and rose to salute the 
general. 

“ I am disturbing you, gentlemen ? ” said the latter, a9 he entered. 

“Not the least in the world, Senor Don Zeno,” replied the Frenchman; “ on the 
contrary, we have been waiting for you with the greatest impatience.” 

“ Pardon me for coming a few minutes earlier than the time you deigned to 
mention for our interview, Monsieur le Due; but as I knew I should find his 
excellency the governor here, I hastened to come, having an important communica- 
tion to make to him.” 

“Then you are doubly welcome, dear general,” answered Don Eusebio. 

The servant brought forward a chair, and withdrew. 

“ Y ou were saying, dear Don Zeno,” pursued Don Eusebio, “ that you had an 
important communication to make ? ” 

“ Here is the affair in a few words,” answered Don Zeno Cabral, with a bow. 
“ The two prisoners, who were to have been tried to-morrow as spies by the council 
of war — Don Louis Ortego and the Count de Mendoza — that I myself ariested at 
the cabildo on the night of the fete, have escaped.” 

“ Escaped! ” cried the governor, with surprise. 

“ This very day, at sunrise, disguised as monks. Accomplices held their horses 
at the gates of the town.” 

“ Oh t oh ! That seems to me decided treason 1 ” cried the general, knitting his 
eyebrows. “ I will ” 

“ Do nothing,” interrupted Don Zeno ; “ any step would now be useless ; they 
have fourteen hours in advance.” 

“ When did you hear of this escape, of which no one has informed me ? ” 

“ In leaving the house of the Marchioness de Castelmelhor, where I had gone this 
morning, one of your aides-de-camp, general, who was looking for you, and wished 
to mount horse to join you, gave me the news of this flight ; I immediately dis- 
patched detachments in all directions in pursuit of the fugitives.” 

“ Very good.” 

“ These detachments have returned, except one, without learning any news of the 
prisoners.” 

“ This is a serious affair, and which cannot but further complicate the difficult 
position in which we find ourselves just now.” 

“ I did not stop there, Monsieur le Gouverneur,” answered Don Zeno; “ I went to 
the prison to ask the director about the escape ; moreover, I dispersed through the 
town some intelligent persons, to report to me what they heard.” 

“ Y ou could not have been more prudent or better advised, my dear Don Zeno ; 1 
congratulate you.” 

“ You give too much importance to so simple a thing.” 

“ And what have you learnt ? ” 

•* Upon my word,” replied Don Zeno, half turning towards the French diplomatist, 
*1 have learnt one thing that will much astonish you, Monsieur le Due.” 


The Insurgent Chief. 


$0 


“ What ? ” said the duke, smiling ; “ have I, without knowing it, aided the flight 

of your prisoners ? ” 

“ Well,” said Don Zeno, laughing, “ it is something of that sort.” 

“ Ah ! upon my word ! ” cried the duke. 

“ Reassure yourself ; you are not concerned in all this — only one of your friends.** 

“ One of my friends ! but I am a foreigner ; there is no one except you that I know 
in the town.” 

“ Just so,” said Don Zeno, laughing; “ it is one of your compatriots.” 

“ One of my compatriots ! ” 

‘‘Yes, a certain Emile Gagnepain. It would appear that he has ” 

** Continue — he has ” 

“ He has entertained relations with the prisoners, and finished by enabling them 
to escape.” 

A slight and scarcely perceptible smile played on the thin lips of the diplomatist 
at this revelation; but immediately regaining his coolness — 

** As to that,” answered he, “ 1 can immediately prove to you the falsity of this 
accusation.” 

“ I should like nothing better, for my part,” said Don Zeno. 

“ How will you do that ? ” demanded Don Eusebio. 

“ You shall see; my compatriot, or rather, my friend, lives in this very house ; I 
will have him called.” 

“ Very good,” observed the governor. 

Observe, Monsieur le Due, that I affirm nothing,” pursued Don Zeno — “ that I 
in no way attack the honour of this caballero.” 

“ It is of no consequence, gentlemen,” cried the duke, with an expression of in- 
dignation ; “ if he were really guilty, I should be the first to abandon him.” 

The two men bowed without answering. The duke struck a bell. 

A servant appeared. 

“ Inform Don Emile,” said the duke, “that I wish to speak to him immediately.” 

“Senor Don Emile is not in his apartment, your lordship,” answered the 
servant, bowing respectfully. 

“ Ah ! ” said the diplomatist, with astonishment ; “ still out at this hour l When 
he returns beg him to come here.” 

The servant bowed without moving. 

“ Have you not understood me ? ” resumed the diplomatist ; “ why do you not 
withdraw ? ” 

“ Your lordship,” respectfully answered the servant, “ Don Emile will not return.” 

“ Don Emile will not return ? ” 

“ He this morning had all his baggage taken away by a man.” 

The duke made a sign for the servant to withdraw. 

“ This is strange 1 ” murmured he, when the door had closed upon the valet ; 
“what does this departure mean?” 

The two creoles looked at each other. 

“No,” pursued the duke, decidedly, “ I cannot yet believe him guilty.” 

“ Senor Captain Don Sylvio Quiroga,” again announced the servant. 

“ Let him come in,” said Don Zeno. 

And turning towards the duke — 

“ Pardon me, sir ; Captain Quiroga is the last officer dispatched by me in pursuit 
of the fugitives. He is an old traveller.” 

“ He w 11 be very welcome, then,” said Don Eusebio. 

“ Yes, we will welcome him,” added the duke, “ for I hope that the information no 
will give us will dissipate our doubts.” 

“ God grant it 1 ” said Don Zeno. 


The Panic. 




Captain Don Sylvio Quiroga appeared. * 

* Well I ” asked Don Zeno, “ have you found any trace of the fugitives, cajv. " 

u I have, general,” he answered ; 4 but here is the fact in a few words. A the 
moment when I was preparing to take them by the collar — for I was scarcely r-iore 
than a pistol-shot from them — two or or three hundred horsemen unawares da ted 
out of a little wood, and charged us with fury. As I had with me only r jht 
men, I thought it prudent not to wait the attack of these enemies, that I was far 1 
expecting so near me, and I immediately retreated with my companions.” ^ 

“ Oh j oh! what do you say?” cried Don Zeno; “you were afraid, perh 
captain ? ” 

44 Upon my word, yes, general ; I was afraid, and very much so,” frankly answered 
the officer 

44 Were they, then, so terrible?” 

44 1 returned immediately, at all speed, to inform you, general.” 

44 And they are ? ” demanded the governor, impatiently. 

44 They are Pincheyras, your excellency,” coolly answered the old soldier. 

This revelation came like a thunderbolt on those to whom he spoke. Don Zeno 
especially, and Don Eusebio appeared extraordinarily agitated. 

44 Pincheyras ! ” repeated they. 

44 Yes, and we shall soon know what they want. I have placed two men in am- 
bush on their route.” 

44 Well,” cried the governor, rising quickly, 44 we cannot take too many precautions 
with such demons. Excuse me, Monsieur le Due, for quitting you so abruptly; 
but the news brought by this brave officer is of the utmost importance. To-morrow, 
if you will permit me, we will resume this interview.” 

44 When you please, gentlemen,” answered the diplomatist : 44 you know that lam 
at your orders ” 

44 A thousand thanks — to-morrow then. Are you coming with me, Senor 
Cabral? ” 

44 Certainly, I am with you,” answered the latter. 44 We cannot employ too much 
prudence in so grave a position.” 

The two generals immediately took leave of the duke, and went out, followed b,y 
the captain. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE PANIC, 

It is difficult to form an idea of the rapidity with which bad news spreads — of the 
way in which it is disfigured in passing from mouth to mouth, constantly increasing 
and finishing, in a very short time, by returning to the author of it, so surcharged 
with statements, and embellished with details, that he cannot recognise it. 

Cantain Don Sylvio Gtuiroga had not, since his return to San Miguel, communi- 
cated with any other person but Don Eusebio Moratin and Don Zeno Cabral. His 
soldiers had, like himself, kept perfectly silent on what had passed during their short 
expedition in search of the fugitives ; and yet the news had already made much way. 
It was no longer 300 men who had shown themselves in the environs of the town, 
but a formidable Spanish army, coming from Peru— pillaging, burning, devastating 


The Insurgent Chief. 


S* 


everything on its route — and of which the ferocious squadron of the Pincheyras 
formed the advance guard. 

Those who had seen them — for, as usual, there were people who asserted that they 
had seen this fantastic Spanish army, which existed only in their imaginations — 
were Certain that they had heard the enemy utter the most terrible oaths of vengeance 
against the unfortunate insurgents. 

People, furnished with torches, coming from no one knew where, traversed the 
town in all directions, crying — 

“ To arms ! to arms 1 ” 

At these cries, at these lurid flames, which cast ill-omened reflections on the walls, 
the citizens came in all haste from their houses ; the women and children wept and 
lamented — in a word, the panic had become in a few minutes so general, that the 
two officers, who, nevertheless, knew the truth, weie themselves frightened, and 
asked themselves if the danger was not, in fact, greater than they had supposed it. 

They mounted their horses, that their assistants were holding for them at the door 
of the duke’s house, and set out at a full gallop towards the cabildo. 

Notwithstanding the advanced hour the cabildo, at the moment when the governor 
and the Motonero entered it, was invaded by the crowd, and offered a spectacle of dis- 
order an 1 of fear. 

The two officers were received with cries of joy and protestations of devotion. 

The governor had considerable difficulty in re-establishing a little order. 

But it was in vain that he tried to re-assure them in relating simply what had 
passed ; they did not wish to believe him. 

The tocsin sounded from all the churches ; barricades were constructed at the 
corners of all the streets, which were constantly traversed by armed patrols of the 
citizens, whilst others bivouacked on the place. 

The town at this time offered the aspect of a vast camp. It was useless to try 
and resist the torrent — the governor understood that. Despairing to re-establish 
security by ordinary methods, he pretended to give way to the views of the persons 
who surrounded him, and tried to organise the panic in giving orders for the defence 
of the city, and in dispatching aides-de-camp in all directions. 

Don Zeno, after having exchanged a few words in a low voice with the governor, 
started off rapidly, followed by Captain Quiroga. 

But his absence was not long. Soon a gallop of horses was heard, and Don 
Zeno re-appeared at the head of his Montoneros. 

The sight of the partisans, in whose courage the inhabitants of San Miguel had 
full confidence, began by degrees to reassure the population. 

So much the more as the Montoneros, after having attached their horses to the 
piquets, and placed their sentinels, mingled with the crowd, and began gently — 
talking with one and the other, at first pretending to enter into the prevailing ideas — 
to re-establish the facts so strangely disfigured, by relating the affair just as it really 
was. 

However, at last it was found that the danger, though less than it was supposed, 
nevertheless existed, and that the nearness of the royalist Montoneros could not bat 
be very disquieting for the common safety. General Moratin skilfully took advan- 
tage of the excitement of the population, by taking the most efficacious measures he 
could think of to lesist an attack till reinforcements arrived. 

Devoted officers superintended the construction of the barricades ; on the terraced 
roofs of the houses stones were carried to crush the assailants ; depots of ammunition 
were established in various places ; and barriers were closed and defended by nume- 
rous soldiers. 

Meanwhile Don Zeno, at the head of forty resolute Montoneros, had set out on » 
journey of discovery. 


The Panic. 


33 


r Vi the deputies were assembled in the cabildo, in the hall of assembly. 

The governor, wishing by his presence to assure the population, had mounted 
lio.ce, and, followed by a numerous staff, had traversed the town in all directions, 
encouraging some, reprimanding others, and exciting the inhabitants to do their 
duty. 

The whole night passed thus. At sunrise, calmness was somewhat re-established 
c.lthough every one preserved his arms, and remained at his post. 

Don Zeno Cabral, who had left more than four hours to reconnoitre, had not re- 
earned. 

Several aides-de-camp, dispatched by him to seek for the Montoneros, had re- 
turned without bringing news either of him or his detachment. 

In the meanwhile an officer entered, leant towards the ear of the governor, and 
murmured some words which he alone heard. 

Don Eusebio started and turned rather pale, but immediately recovering himself: 

“ Captain,” said he, to the officer, “ sound the order to saddle, and let all the 
Cquadron of Don Zeno Cabral mount horse.” 

The order was immediately executed ; the Montonero left the town at a trot. 

General Don Eusebio Moratin, mounted on a magnificent black horse, and dressed 
in a uniform covered with gold embroidery, rode at its head. 

When the troop was in the open country, and some rising ground had hidden it 
from the gaze of the inhabitants, the general had a halt sounded, stationed the sen- 
tinels, and ordered the officers to come to him on a hillock, on the summit of which 
he had stopped, at about a hundred paces in advance of the squadron. 

The latter immediately obeyed with an impatience mingled with curiosity. 

When all the officers had arrived they ranged themselves in a circle round the 
general. 

“ Caballeros,” the latter said firmly, “the time for dissimulation has passed ; it is 
my duty frankly to explain to you the situation, especially as I have great need of 
your assistance.” 

“ Speak, general,” answered the officers ; “ we are ready to obey as if you were 
really our chief.” 

“ I thank you, Caballeros, and I count upon your promise. Here is what has 
happened : your chief, Don Zeno Cabral, deceived by a spy, has been, with a few 
men who accompanied him, surprised by a party of royal scouts. Everything leads 
to the belief that this party belongs to the formidable band of the Pincheyras. 
Don Zeno, after prodigies of valour, has been constrained to surrender, to prevent 
bloodshed.” 

The officers uttered exclamations of rage. 

“ The enemies are near,” continued the general. “ Not knowing of the flight of 
one of their prisoners, and feeling perfectly sure that their bold coup de main is still 
unknown to us, they have only withdrawn gently. The opportunity is, therefore, 
favoutable to take our revenge, and to deliver our chief and your friends. Will 
you ? ” 

“ Yes, yes ! ” cried the officers, brandishing their arms. “ At them ! at 
them ! ” 

“ Very well,” answered the general; “before an hour we shall have overtaken 
them. Remember that the men that attack us are bandits, with neither good faith 
nor law.” 

What General Moratin had announced to the officers of the squadron was true, 
or, at least, he thought it so. 

Don Zeno Cabral left, as we have said, about two qlclock in the morning, at th$ 
head of a rather weak detachment, with the intention of making a reconnaissance. 
After having scoured the country for two or three hours, without discovering anything 


The Insurgent Chief. 


o \ 


suspicious, and without noticing any trace of the passage of an armed troop, he wished* 
before re-entering the town, to explore the borders of the river. 

For a long time the Montoneros marched thus, beating the thickets and the under- 
wood with the point of their lances, without discovering anything ; and their chief, 
convinced that the enemy — if by chance he had ventured so near the town — had 
fudged it prudent not to remain there any longer, gave the order to retreat ; when all 
^ * a «udden, at the moment when it was least expected, a hundred men rose on all 
j. ..de* r rom the midst of the thicket. 

Ah ough surprised and harassed by an enemy of whose number they v/ere 
Egn.u -nt, but whom they supposed to be much superior to themselves, the Montoneros 
were ot the men to lay down their arms at the first blow. 

There was, at first, terrible disorder — a terrible collision, hand-to-hand — in the 
midst of which Don Zeno Cabral was unhorsed, and thrown to the ground. 

Fo’ a time his companions thought him dead. 

It was then that one of them slipped unperctived into the midst of the trees and 
ro ks and galloped ha;d to San Miguel to carry the news of the defeat of the 
Montoneros. 

They were, however, far from being conquered. Don Zeno Cabral had almost 
immediately risen, and had reappeared at the head of his men. 

“ l lowever, the assailants were too numerous for the Montoneros to have the hope 
—nor of conquering them, they had no thought of that — but of escaping from the 
scrape into which they had fallen. 

Don Zeno Cabral perceived at a glance the difficulties of the ground on which k 
was necessary to fight. 

AH his efforts were then directed to enlarge the field of battle. 

The chief of the patriots knew with what enemies he had to contend : their red 
ponchos had caused them to be recognised as soon as daylight had come. 

For during the desperate combat that the troops had been waging, the sun had riser*. 

Unhappily the light of day revealed the small number of the patriots. 

The Pincheyras, furious at having been so long held in check by so feeble a de- 
tachment, redoubled their efforts to completely defeat them. 

Bat the latter were not discouraged ; led a last time to the charge by their intrepid 
cfrt'-, they rushed with fury on their enemies. 

Toe Montoneros had succeeded in overturning the human barrier raised before 
tl" “’ii, and had gained the plain. 

but at the price of what sacrifices! 

Twenty of their men were lying lifeless on the rocks — the survivors, to the number 
o' about fifteen at the most, were, for the most part, wounded and weighed down by 
the fatigue of the unequal combat they had so long to sustain. 

All was not finished, however; for the patriots to find themselves in open country 
".Vas not to be saved. 

Nevertheless, though still very bad, their situation was decidedly ameliorated. 

The Pincheyras, to surprise their enemies, had been obliged to dismount, and to 
t:Tc their horses some paces from them. 

Vvhen the Montoneros had succeeded in opening a passage, the Pincheyras 
r'Ticip aated themselves immediately towards the spot where they had left their horses. 

There was then compulsorily a pause, by which Don Zeno Cabral and his com. 
r'V.iioiu profited. - 

The chief of the Pincheyras, a man of tall figure, with energetic and marked 
frjaturrf,, and a harsh and cruel expression— still young, and who, during the combat, 

1 ad pci formed prodigies of valour, and had furiously pressed Don Zeno Cabral him- 
rr':, jn appeared almost lying 'on hjs hPfSg, tqrjously brandishing his lance, and 
g wan loud cries the twenty horsemen whom he was followed. 


The Solitary, 


3S 


The other Pincheyras were not long 1 in overtaking him, emerging successively from 
the midst of the rocks and the clusters of trees. 

The Montoneros, to give less chance to their enemies, had dispersed over a large 
space. They stretched themselves over their horses, hanging on one side by the 
stirrup, and holding the bridle with one hand, to avoid the bolas and the lagos, that 
their enemies, while rapidly galloping, flourished round their heads. 

This man-hunt presented a most stirring spectacle, full of strange incidents. 

The Pincheyras — owing to the fresh horses they rode— approached rapidly. A 
few minutes more and they would arrive within reach of those whom they pursued, 
when, on a sudden, the earth resounded under the rapid gallop of a considerable 
troop of horsemen, and Genera! Don Eusebio Moratin, followed by the whole 
squadron of Don Zeno Cabral, charged furiously upon the royalists. 

The latter, surprised in their turn, when they already thought themselves con- 
querors, uttered cries of rage, and immediately turning ther bridles, they endeavoured 
to escape in all directions. Don Zeno, burning to draw a brilliant vengeance from 
what he considered an affront, affectionately grasped the hand of the general ; and, 
although overcome by fatigue, and wounded, put himself at the head of his squadron* 
and dashed with it upon the Pincheyras. 

Speedily the bolas and the lagos flew on all sides, and the horsemen, hurled from 
their saddles, rolled on the ground with cries of rage and anguish. 

The strife was short, but terrible. Surrounded by the squadron, the Pincheyras, 
despite a desperate resistance, were defeated, and obliged to surrender. 

Scarcely twenty-five survived ; the others, strangled by the la o& wounded by the 
lances, or their skulls broken by the terrible bolas, lay stretched upon the field. 

One man only had escaped ; it was the chief : 

Hemmed in by the Montoneros, trapped like a wild beast, he had penetrated into a 
thick cluster of mastic-trees and trees of Peru, whither the patriots had almost im- 
mediately followed him. 

The Pincheyra had coolly fa ed his pursuers ; with the last shot from his carbine 
he had killed one of those who most closely pressed him, and then, with a laugh of 
disdain, he had buried himself in the thicket. 

Vainly the Montoneros, exasperated by the desperate resistance of this man, and 
the last death he had caused, started after him to capture him. For more than an 
hour they searched the ground foot by foot, inch by inch ; separated the branches in 
the wood, and struck the ground with their lances. 

He had become invisible. All search was vain — they could not find him again; 
and the Montoneros felt compelled to give up the pursuit. 

The general had the order to depart sounded, though much against his liking. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SOLITARY. 

We must now return to the French painter that we have left buried, so to say, at the 
bottom of a cavern, philosophically making up his mind to this voluntary seclusion. 

Obliged to remain alone during a considerable time, and not knowing how lc 
employ 3 himself, the young man prolonged his meal as much as possible ; and t:.ec 


3*5 


The Insurgent Chief, 


lit a cigar, and began to smoke with the beatific resignation of a Mahometan, or a 
drinker of hatchich. After this cigar he smoked another, then another, and then 
another, followed immediately by a fourth ; so that midnight came almost without 
his perceiving it, and he laid himself upon his hammock without being wearied. 

However, Emile had too nervous an organisation to content himself long with 
this kind of life. It was with a sigh of regret that he closed his eyes and slept. 

How long had he remained plunged in sleep, he could not tell. Suddenly he 
jumped up, sat up in his hammock, casting around him a look of fright. 

In the midst of his sleep he suddenly thought he heard cries, and the trampling of 
horses, mingled with deaden d sounds. For some time these sounds were mingled 
and incorporated with the events of his dream. 

But soon these cries and trampling acquired such an intensity that they awakened 
him from his sleep. 

At first he took no account of what he heard, believing that it was but a sound 
existing only in his imagination. 

But when, by degrees, he succeeded in recovering his ideas, and when he felt that 
he was completely awake, he acquired the certainty, not only that this noise was leal, 
but that it every moment increased, and had become very loud. 

However, all was calm around the young man ; the lamp — the wick of which he 
had lowered when he lay down, so that its too brilliant light might not hinder his 
sleeping — shed a gentle and uncertain light, but strong enough to enable him to 
assure himself at a glance that all was in the state in which he had left it on tailing 
to bed, and that he was still alone. 

He rose, a prey to extraordinary agitation. 

The first thought that occurred to him was that his retreat was discovered, and 
that they wished to arrest him ; but he soon admitted the absurdity of this supposi- 
tion, and re-assured himself; the people charged to secure him would simply have 
entered the cavern, and would have had no combat to sustain. 

But what could be the cause of this frightful tumult which still continued quite 
near to him ? 

This extremely puzzled the young man, and awakened his curiosity to the highest 
pitch. 

He looked at his watch. It was half-past five in the morning. 

Outside, tnen, it was daylight. It could not be a gathering of wild beasts, the 
sun making them retire into their caves ; moreover, these animals would not dare to 
venture so near the town. 

Was it a battle ? But a battle in the middle of the night, almost at the gates of 
San Miguel, was not admissible. 

For a moment the young man thought of knocking at the trap-door, to get it ' 
opened. 

But he reflected that the rancheros were supposed to be ignorant of his presence 
among them. 

But as — as we have said— his curiosity was excited to the highest degree, and as, 
in tt.e precarious situation he was in it was important for him — at least, he gave 
himself this reason to justify in his own eyes the step he wished to take — to know 
what was passing around him, in order to know how to act ; he resolved »o act 
without further delay, and learn the causes of this extraordinary uproar, which had 
so suddenly troubled his repose. 

He therefore rose, took a sabre, passed a pair of pistols in his girdle, seized a car- 
bine, and thus armed, and ready for any event, he lit a lantern, and proceeded 
towards the passage on the right — the side from whence the sound appeared to 
come. 

This passage, or rather this gallery of the cavern, was large enough for two 


The Solitary. 


37 


persons to walk abreast; its walls were high and dry, and the ground was covered 
with a fine yellow sand, which completely stifled the sound of steps. The gallery 
had several turnings. 

After a short time the young man reached a room which at the moment served 
for a stable. 

The animals appeared frightened ; they were drooping their ears, and violently 
snorting, as they tried to break the cords which bound them to the manger, furnished 
with a copious supply of provender. 

The painter paited them with his hand, caressed them, and tried to re-assure 
them. 

The further he advanced into the gallery, the more the noise became intense. It 
was no longer cries and trampling that he heard, but the sound of fire-arms, and 
»:he clashing of sabres. 

Doubt was no longer possible ; a furious combat was being fought a few steps 
off. 

This certainty, far from stopping the young man, increased his desire to know 
positively what was passing ; he almost ran to reach the end of the gallery. 

There he was obliged to stop ; an enormous stone hermetically sealed the entrance 
of the cavern. 

But this stone could evidently be moved ; but what means could he employ to 
obtain that result ? He knew not. 

Then, with the help of his lantern, he proceeded to examine the stone above, 
below, and on the sHes, seeking how he might succeed in removing it. 

For nearly half-an-hour he gave himself up to an inspection as careful as it was 
useless, and he began to despair of discovering the secret which evidently existed, 
when suddenly he thought he saw the stone slightly move. 

Emile was a bold fellow, endowed with a large share of coolness and energy. 
His mind was made up in a moment, and mentally thanking the individual, who- 
ever he was who was sparing him the long and fatiguing labour which he did not 
know how to bring to a successful termination, he quickly placed himself in conceal- 
ment in a comer of the gallery, placed his lantern on the ground near him, taking 
cate to cover it with his hat, so that its light might not be perceived. Seizing a 
pi>tol in each hand, to be ready for anything, he waited with his eyes fixed on the 
s'one, which, owing to the numerous fissures in the walls of the gallery, he could 
easily distinguish — a prey to a strange emotion, which caused his heart to beat 
violently, and his blood to rush to his brain. 

His watching was not long. Scarcely had he concealed himself before the stone 
was detached and rolled on the ground, and a man, holding in his hand a carbine, 
the barrel of which was still smoking, quickly entered the cavern. 

The man leant forward towards the aperture, appeared to listen for a few seconds, 
and then stood up, murmuring loud enough for the young man to hear him — 

“ They come, but too late ; the tiger has now escaped.” 

And skilfully aiding himself with the barrel of the carbine, as with a lever, he 
rapidly replaced the stone in its previous position. # 

“ Search, search, perros malditos ,” said the unknown, with an ironical sneer, 
u I do not fear you now.” 

And with the greatest coolness he proceeded to reload his gun. Rushing from his 
concealment, the painter stood face to face with the unknown, and, presenting his 
pistols — 

if Who are you ? what do you want ? ” he demanded. 

“ Eh 1 What is this ? ” cried the unknown ; “ am I, then, betrayed ? ” 

* f Betrayed ! ” repeated the Frenchman, prudently placing his foot on the Carbine | 
“the expression seems to me rather strange from your mouth, senor.” 


The Insurgent Chief. 




But it was only the work of a minute for the unknown to regain his coolness. 

“ Replace your pistols in your girdle, senor,” he said ; “they are not wanted here.** 
“ I am pleased to hear it,” answered the painter ; “ but what guarantee do you 
give me : ” 

“ My word as a gentleman,” he replied, with dignity. 

Although the painter had been but a few months in America, he had been often 
enough in a position to study the character of the inhabitants of the country to know 
what reliance he might place on this word so proudly given. So, after having 
affirmatively nodded his head — 

“ I accept it,” said he, uncocking his pistols, and placing them in his girdle. 

“ Thank you,” laconically answered the unknown, holding out his hand : “ I 
expected nothing less.” 

“ The tumult appears to go farther off ; your pursuers, no doubt, give up seeking 
for you any longer. Follow me *, I am, I believe, in a position to offer you better 
hospitality than you think.” 

“ At the present moment, I want two things.” 

“ What?” 

“ Food, and two hours’ sleep.” 

“And then ” 

“ Then — unhappily that does not depend upon you.” 

“What is it, then ? ” 

“ A good horse to carry me as quick as possible to rejoin my companions, tha‘ I 
have left twenty leagues from here.” 

“ Very well. You shall first eat ; then you shall sleep, then, when you have 
reposed long enough, you shall choose which of my horses suit you best.’” 

They quitted the extremity of the gallery, and proceeded to the room. 

“ There are the horses,” said the young man, as he passed through the stable. 

“ Good 1 ” simply said the other. 

When they were in the cavern, the unknown looked around him with wonder. 

“ What does this mean ? ” said he ; “ do you really live here, then? ” 

“ For a time, yes. I, like yourself, am proscribed ? ” 

“ How ? you — a Frenchman ? ” 

“ Nationality has nothing to do with the matter,” said the young man, laughing ; 
“sit down and eat.” 

And, after having brought forward a chair, he placed provisions on the table. 

“ And you — will you not also eat ? ” asked the unknown. 

“ Pardon — I intend to keep you company.” 

The two took their places, and began the meal. 

** Look you,” said the unknown, after a pause, ** I wish to give you a proof of the 
•nlire confidence I have in you. Would you like to gain 15,000 piastres 1 ” 

“ Pooh l ” said the young man, with a pout. 

“ You do not care for money ? ” said the unknown. 

“ Upon my word, no 1 It is not worth the trouble.” 

“ But it ileasy for you, without the least trouble, to gain this money,” 

•That is another affair. Let me see your plan.” 

“ Have you heard of four Pincheyra brothers ? ” 

“ Often.” 

“ Well, I am a Pincheyra,” said he, looking at him fixedly. 

“ Bah ! ” cried the young man, turning round ; “ it is a strange meeting.** 

“ Is it not ? I am Don Santiago I incheyra, the second of the four brothers. 1 * 
“Very good, I am delighted at having made your acquaintance.” 

“ My head is worth 15,000 piastres. Well, give me up; they will give you th# 
money, and, np* i than that, they will pardon you.” 


The Solitary. 


39 


u Five Dieu ! ” cried the Frenchman, striking the table with his fist, “ do you know 
that you insult me ? ” 

Don Santiago remained motionless and smiling ; he held out his hand to the 
young man. 

“ On the contrary,” he said ; “ I give you a proof of the confidence I have in your 
honour, inasmuch as without your having asked who I am, I have told you ; and 
now, knowing that I am completely in your power, I am going to stretch myself in 
your hammock, where I shall sleep under your protection.’’ 

“ Well, sir,” answered the young man, still with some little resentment, “ I admit 
your explanation.” 

“ I confess that I am wrong, and I ask pardon for it again, senor; so, give me 
your honest hand, and forget it.” 

The young man took the hand that the Pinchevra offered him, and resumed his 
place at the table. They continued their meal without any fresh incident. 

The Pincheyra was so overcome by fatigue, that, towards the end of the repast, he 
fell asleep talking. 

“ Now,” said the painter, “ you have appeased your appetite, you have another 
want, more imperious still, to satisfy ; it is time that you went to sleep, so as to be 
speedily in a position to join your friends.” 

“True,” said Don Santiago, laughing, “ I am sleeping as I sit; I really do not 
Know how to excuse myself.” 

Pardieu / by lying down ; that, I think, is the only thing you have to do at this 
moment.” 

“ Upon my word, you are right ; I will, without any further delay, profit by your 
counsel.” 

In speaking thus, he rose with some little difficulty, so overcome was he by 
fatigue, and, aided by the young man, he stretched himself on the hammock. 

Again free to give himself up to his own thoughts, the young man lit a c : gar. 
installed himself comfortably in a seat, and, while digesting his breakfast, he began 
to reflect on this new episode of his varied life which had just been unexpectedly 
grafted on the others, and which would, perhaps, still more complicate the number- 
less difficulties of the position in which he found himself. 

“ This time,” said he, “ I can boldly say that I have had no hand in what has 
happened, and that this man has really come to me when I by no means sought 
him. How will all this finish ? Suppose Tyro does not come ! Devoted as the brave 
•fellow may be to me, I fear the allurement of 15,000 piastres — a very large sum for 
any one who knows how to gain it honestly — may induce him to give up my guest 
and myself.” 

Several hours passed, during which the Montonero chief slept soundly. 

At last, about one o’clock in the afternoon, Emile thought that the Montonero had 
sufficiently slept. He approached him, and touched him lightly on the shoulder, to 
awaken him. 

The latter instantly opened his eyes, and bounced like a coyote out of the ham- 
mock. 

“ What is the matter ? ” demanded he, in a low voice. 

“ Nothing that I know of,” answered the other. 

“ Then, why wake me, when I was sleeping so well ? ” said he, gaping. 

“ Because you have slept enough, and it is time to go.” 

“Time to go! already! You are chary of your hospitality, master. Well, 1 
will do what you wish,” he added. 

“ You do not embarrass me, senor,” answered the young man ; “ if it only 
depended upon me, you might remain here as long as you please-” 

“ But on whom does it depend, then ? ” 


4 ° 


The Insurgent Chief. 


“On the Indian servant who lias concealed me here, and who. probably, will not 
be long before he pays me a visit. Consider whether it would suit you to be seen by 
him.” 

“ Not the least in the world 1 To trust myself to an Indian would be to be 
irretrievably lost.” 

“ I do not know precisely when he will come, but I expect him from one moment 
to another.” 

“ The deuce 1 with your permission, I will not expect him. If you will permit 
me, I will set out at once.” 

“ Come and choose your horse.” 

The Montonero seized his carbine, which he loaded as he walked, and they went 
into the gallery. 

The choice did not take long. The three horses were equally young, full of 
blood, fire, and swiftness. The Montonero, a good judge, saw this at a glance, and 
took one haphazard. 

“ What is unfortunate for me in all this,” said he, quickly saddling his hotse, “ is, 
that I am obliged to leave the same way as I came, and that I run the risk of falling 
into an ambuscade. There used to be a second gallery in this cavern. 

“ This gallery is still there. Y ou can easily go out that way.” 

“ If it is so, I am saved,” cried the Montonero, with joy. 

“ Silence 1 ” said the young man, in a low voice ; “ I hear some one walking.” 

The Fincheyra listened, and heard the sound of steps close by. 

“ Oh ! ” cried he, with a gesture of despair. 

“ Remain here ! Let me act — I’ll answer for all,” the young man quickly 
whispered. 

And he briskly darted into the cavern. It was time. Tyro was about to look for 
him in the gallery. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE INDIAN. 

\t the moment when the painter came out of the gallery in the cavern, he found 

imself face to face with Tyro, who, having entered by the opposite gallery, and not 
mding him in the room, was going to seek for him in the stable. 

The two men remained a short time motionless and silent, facing each other, care- 
fully examining each other. 

The situation threatened to become critical. The Frenchman saw that he must, at 
an)' price, get out of it ; so he resolved on speaking boldly, persuaded that this was 
the best means of escaping from his embarrassment. 

“ You here, at last, Tyro 1 ” he cried, feigning great joy ; “ I began to feel uneasy 
at this seclusion.” 

“ It was impossible for me to come sooner, master,” answered the Indian, giving a 
Cunning glance from under his eyelashes. “ You have found everything in order 
here.” 

“ Perfectly. I must confess that I have passed an excellent night.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the guaranis ; “ you have heard nothing ? Has there been no unusv.al 
noise to disturb your slerp? ” 


The Indian . 


if 


“ I only waked about half an hour ago.” 
ho much the better, master. I am delighted. If you did not teil it to me so do 
Cidcdly, I frankly confess I should scarcely have believed you.” 

“ Why ? ” asked he, with feigned astonishment. 

** Because, master, the night has been anything but tranquil.” 

“ Ah 1 bah 1 ” cried he; “what has happened, then? You understand I am 
ignorant of everything.” 

“ A desperate battle has been fought close by here, between the Spaniards and t: t 
patriots.” 

“ The devil l And this combat is over ? ” 

“ Otherwise, should I be here, master ? ” 

“ That is right, my friend. And who have got the best of it? ” 

“ The patriots. Master,” continued he, “ what have I done to lose your confi- 
dence ? ” 

Emile felt that he blushed ; however, he answered — 

“ 1 do not understand this reproach that you address to me, mv brave friend.” 

“ What good will it be,” pursued the guaranis, “since you mistrust me? ” 

“ I mistrust you l ” cried the young man, who felt that he was to blame, but who 
did not believe himself authorised to give up the secret. 

“ Certainly, master. Look at these two glasses and two plates ; look, moreover, 
at these remains of cigars.” 

«. W ell ? ” 

“ Well, do you think, then, that, if I did not know already, these things would not 
be sufficient to prove to me the presence of another person.” 

“ How ? What do you know ? ” 

“ I know, master, that a man, whose name, if I chose, I could easily tell you, this 
morning entered the cavern, that you have given him hospitality, and that at the 
moment I am speaking, he is still here — hidden there.” 

“ But then,” cried the young man, violently, “ since you are so well informed, you 
have betrayed me ? ” 

“ So, he is really here ! ” said the Indian, with a gesture of joy. 

“ Have you not just told me so yourself ? ” 

** True, master, but I feared that he had already gone.” 

“ Ah 1 but what does all that mean ? I am quite at a loss to understand it.” 

“ It is, nevertheless, very simple, master; call this man ; all will be explained in 
a few words.” 

“ Mafoi ! ” cried the young man, in an ill-humoured tone; “call him yourself, 
since you know him so well ” 

“ You are angry with me, master; you are wrong, for in everything that occurs I 
should only act for you.” 

“ It is possible, but 1 am annoyed at the absurd part I am condemned to play.” 

“ Oh, master, do not complain ; for this time, I assure you, Fate, as you call it, 
has shown rare intelligence ; and you wiii soon have a proof of ic.” 

“ 1 should 1 kc nctning oetter.” 

“ Will you permit me, master ? ” 

“ Are you not in your own place ? Do what you like.” 

After having answered, by this outburst, the young man threw himself on a seat, 
and li' a cigar with the most careless air he cou.d atiect. 

The Indian looked at him a moment with an indefinable expression, and then, 
taking his hand, and kissing it respectfully — 

“ Oh, master 1 ” said he, in a gentle and somewhat trembling voice, “do not be 
unjust towards a faithful servant.” 

And then he strided towards the gallery. 


The Insurgent Chiej. 


4 * 


“Come, Don Santiago,” cried he, with a loud voice, stopping at the entrance^ 
“you can show yourself.” 

The sound of a quick step was heard, and the Montonero almost immediately 
showed himself. 

After having casta glance around him, he advanced briskly towards the guaranis, 
and, grasping him heaitily by the hand — - 

“ rive Dios ! ” cried he ; “ my brave friend, I am happy to see you here ! ” 

“ And so am I, senor,” respectfully answered the Indian ; “ but first permit me to 
ask you a favour.” 

“ Jf it depends on me, I will do so willingly.” 

“ Will you be good enough to explain to this gentleman, who is my master, what 
has passed between you and me the lart two days ? ” 

“What!” said the Spaniard, with surprise; “this caballero your master — my 
friend ; the meeting is strange I ” 

“ It may be that I had prepared it, or at least tried to arrange it,” answered the 
Indian. 

“That’s possible, after all,” said the Spaniard. 

“ You know that I do not understand a word of what you are saying,” interrupted 
the Frenchman with suppressed impatience. 

“ Speak, Don Santiago, I beg you.” 

“ This is what has occurred,” pursued the Montonero. “ For certain reasons, too 
long to tell you— and which, moreover, would very little interest you, I am convinced 
—1 am the fiiend of this brave Indian, to whom I cannot, and do not wish to refuse 
anything. Two days, ago, then, he came to me, at one of my habitual rendezvous 
that he has long known, and made me promise to come here with some of the men 
of my squadron, in order to protect the flight of several persons in whom he is much 
interested/’ 

“Hum I ’’cried the young man; “ continue, continue, senor ; this becomes inte- 
resting.” 

“So much the tetter; only you do wrong to throw away your cigar on that 
account. I have come, then. Unhappily, notwithstanding all the precautions that 
I have taken, I have been discovered, and — you know the rest.” 

“ Yes, but you do not know it, senor, and 1 am going to tell you,” answered the 
Indian. 

“ I should like nothing better,” 

“ One moment ! ” cried the painter, holding out his hand to the guaranis. “I 
owe you an apology, Tyro, for my unjust suspicions. I offer it from the bottom of 
my heart.” 

“Oh, that is too much, master; your goodness confounds me,” answered the 
guaranis, with emotion. “ 1 only wished to prove to you that I am still your faithful 
servant.” 

“ There remains not the least doubt of that, my friend.” 

“ Thank you, master.” 

“Yes, yes,” murmured the Spaniard; “believe me, senor, these red-skins are better 
than they are generally supposed. Now, my brave friend,” added he, addressing 
Tyro, “ tell me what I do not know.” 

“ The result — here it is, senor ; you have been betrayed.” 

w Vive Dios ! I feared so ; you know the traitor ? ” 

“ I know him.” 

“ Good! ” said he, joyfully rubbing his hands; “you will no doubt tell me hia 
name.” 

“ It is useless, senor ; I intend to chastise him.'’ 

“ As you please.” 


The Indian. 


43 


“ Believe me, senor — you or me — he will lose nothing,” pursued the Indian, wi^ 
an accent of hatred it would be impossible to render. 

“ I will not cavil any longer with you on that ; let us return to our business.” 

“ Do you not know me, Don Santiago? ” said the Indian ; “ the evil has been ra 
paired.” 

“ Good ! that is to sav ” 

“That is to say, that I have myself carried the news of your defeat to your friends; 
that to-night twenty-five horsemen will arrive here, where we shall conceal them, 
whilst fitly others will await your return to Vado del Nandus, ambuscaded in the 
rocks.” 

“ Perfectly arranged all that — perfectly, my master,” said the Spaniard. “ But 
why should I not go myself, just to meet my friends? ” 

“ Don Santiago,” answered the Indian, “but you forget that I have asked you to 
render me a service.” 

“ That is true l I do not know where my brains are at this moment ; excuse me, 
1 beg.” 

“ I thank you. Now, master,” added he, turning towards the young man, 41 it is 
necessary that this very day the ladies that you know should quit San Miguel ; to- 
moirow would be too late. You must go immediately and resume your disguise. 
You will arrive just at sunset, only you must make haste.” 

‘ ‘ The devil ! ” murmured the painter, “ but how shall I conduct these ladies here ? ’* 

“ Do not let that disturb you, master ; at the gate of the convent a guide will 
await you.” 

“ And (hat guide ? ” 

‘’Will be me, master.” 

“ Can 1 resume my nap ? ” asked the Spaniard. 

“ Certainly, nothing will prevent you ; especially as I shall return in time to intro- 
duce your companions into the cave.” 

“ Very well. Good fortune then.” 

And he stretched himself comfortably in the hammock, while Tyro aided his master 
to complete his metamorphosis, which did not take long. 

The two men left the cavern, leaving the Spaniard in a sound sleep. 

The gallery by which the master and the servant departed led out to the very bank 
of the river, and was so completely concealed, that unless any one had known of its 
existence, it would never have been suspected. 

A boat, at a few paces off, awaited them. 

Tyro immediately went towards it; he set it partly afloat, made his master enter, 
stepped into it himself, and then, taking the paddles, launched it into the current. 

1 We shall arive quicker thus,” he said ; “ 1 can put you down at a few paces 
only from the spot where you are going.” 

The painter made a sign of assent, and they continued the route. 

The head of the boat soon grated on the sand of the bank ; they had arrived. 
The Frenchman landed. 

“ Good fortune 1 ” murmured Tyro. 

Spite of himself, on finding himself again in the midst of a town, where he knew 
he was looked for as a criminal, and tracked as a wild beast, the young man felt 
some emotion. 

He knew that he was risking his head on a throw of the dice. 

But Emile had a generous and intrepid heart ; he had promised two ladies to try 
all he could to aid them ; and had not for a moment the thought of failing in his 
woi d. 

Under his disguise, he was well armed ; and, moteover, his course was decided 
on ; the rubicon was passed ; he could not go back. He threw an inquiring look 


44 


Thp Insurgent Chief, 


around him, assured himself that tt’e environs were deserted, and, after having 1 a last 
time touched the pistols placed under his poncho in his girdle, he boldly entered the 
ss eet. 

Like the bank of the river, the street was a desert. 

The young man affecting the so new hat trembling step of an old man, and look- 
**g carefully around him, took the side of the street opposite to that of the convent, 
hen, having arrived before the windows, he twice repeated the signal which he had 
agreed on. 

“ Suppose,” said he to himself, “they have placed some one in concealment ? ” 

Then after a pause, no doubt employed in still further bracing up his resolution, 
^le crossed the street and approached the gate. 

At the moment when he was preparing to knock, the gate opened. 

He entered, and the gate shut immediately after him. 

“ Oufl ” said he, “ here am I in the mousetrap ; what is going to happen now?” 

A nun stood before him. 

They traversed silently and rapidly the long corridors and cloisters, and at last 
reached the chamber of the superior. The door was open. 

One person only was in the chamber ; this person was the superior. 

The young man bowed respectfully to her. 

“ Well,” she asked, briskly approaching him, “ what has happened ? ” 

“ What has happened,” he answered, “ is, that if these ladies still have the inten- 
tion to fly, all is ready.*’ 

“ God be praised ! ” cried the superior, with joy, “ and when shall they go ? ” 

“ Immediately ; to-morrow it would be too late.” 

“ It is but too true, alas ! ” said she, with a sigh; “ so you can answer for their 
safety ? ” 

“ I can answer, madame, that I would suffer myself to be killed to defend them ; 
a man cannot engage to do more.” 

“You are right, Caballero.” 

“ Now, madame, be so kind as to inform these ladies as soon as possible ” 

“ They are aware of it already; they are now finishing their preparations.” 

“So much the better, for I am anxious to get in the open country. You know, 
madame, that you have offered me the means of facilitating our quitting this 
house.” 

“ Do not distress yourself ; what I have said I will do.” 

“ A thousand thanks, madame ; permit me one last observation.” 

“Speak, caballero .” 

“ When I first came here, I thought I remarked — perhaps I was deceived — that 
the person who acted as my guide did not possess your entire confidence.” 

“Yes, senor, you were not deceived; but,” added she, with a significant smile, 
“ you will now have nothing to fear from the indiscretions of that nun ; her post is 
occupied by a reliable person.” 

The young man bowed. 

At the same moment a door opened, and two persons entered. 

The darkness which began to prevail in the room prevented the Frenchman at 
first recognising these two persons, enveloped in thick mantles, and their heads 
covered with hats. 

“ We are lost 1 ” murmured he. 

“ Stop ! ” sharply cried one of the two unknown, letting fall the lappit of her 
mantle, “ do you not see who we are ? ” 

“ Oh ! *’ cried the Frenchman, recognising the marchioness. 

“ I thought,” she resumed, “ that for the hazardous adventure which we undertake 
this costume would be better than our own.” 


The Indian . 


4 $ 


“And you are most decidedly right, madame.” 

The young girl concealed herself timidly and tremblingly behind her mother. 

“ We will leave when you please, madame,” pursued the young man. 

“ Immediately ! immediately ! ” cried the marchioness. 

“ Very well,” said the superior, “ follow me.” / 

They quitted the chamber. 

The marchioness and her daughter each carried a light valise under their arms. 

The marchioness also — no doubt to add to the correctness of her masculine cos- 
tume — had a pair of pistols in her girdle, a sabre at her side, and a cutlass in her 
right polcva. 

The cloisters were deserted ; a death-like silence reigned in the convent. 

“You can go without any fear,” said the superior. 

“ Where are the horses ? ” asked the marchioness. 

“ At a few paces from here,” answered Emile ; “it would have been imprudent 
to have brought them to the convent.” 

“ That is true,” answered the marchioness. 

The painter was very uneasy. The last question of the marchioness, about the 
horses, reminded him — rather late in the day — that he had never thought of them. 
Carried away by the rapidity with which events had occurred since the arrival of 
Tyro in the cavern, he had left everything to the guaranis. 

“ Confound it,” murmured he to himself, “ suppose Tyro has no more memory 
than I ?” 

The four persons rapidly traversed the corridors, and were not long in reaching 
the gate of the convent. The superior, after having cast a searching look through 
the grating, to assure herself that the street was deserted, opened the door. 

“ Adieu, and the Lord protect you ! ” said she ; “ I have honourably kept my 
promise.” 

“ Adieu, and thank you," answered the marchioness. 

As to the young girl, she threw herself into the arms of the nun, and embraced 
her, weeping. 

“ Go ! go ! ” quickly cried the superior. 

The two ladies gave a last sad look at the convent and, enveloping themselves 
carefully in their mantles, they prepared to follow their protector. 

“ Which way do we take ? ” asked the marchioness. 

“ This,” answered Emile, turning to the right — that is to say, proceeding to the 
river. 

Was it by chance or intuition that he took this direction ? A little of one and a 
little of the other. 

A rather large barque, rowed by four men, was waiting, run aground on thej 
bank. ■ 

“ Eh ! ” said one of the men, in whom Emile immediately recognised Tyro ; 
“ here is the master.” 

The latter, without answering, made his companions enter the barque, and im- 
mediately stepped in after them. 

On a sign from the Indian, the oars were shipped, and the barque drifted rapidly 
away. 

The ladies gave a sigh of relief. 

Tyro had thought that it would be better, on leaving, to resume the same mode 
of travelling, especially on account of the ladies, who, notwithstanding all their 
precautions, ran the risk of being easily discovered. 

Thanks to the darkness — for the sun had set, and already the darkness was great 
—and especially to the breadth of the river, the barque keeping to the middle, the 
fugitives ran very little risk of being recognised. 


4<S 


The Insurgent Chief, 


They accomplished their passage in a very little time, and during all the time they 
did not meet any other boat than their own, except an Indian piroque containing a 
single man, which crossed them on their leaving the town. 

But this piroque passed them too far off, and its course was too rapid, for it to be 
supposed that the man who was in it could perceive them. 

They at last arrived at the entrance of the cavern. 

We have said that the barque was rowed by four men. 

Of these four men, t,wo were gauchos, engaged by Tyro, and, as the guaranis 
hrvl well paid them, he had a right to reckon on their fidelity. The third was a 
domestic of ihe painter’s — an Indian whom the latter had left at San Miguel, with- 
out taking any heed of him, when he himself took flight. The fourth was Tyro 
himself. 

When the barque touched the bank, the guaranis respectfully helped the two ladies 
to land, and then, going up to the entrance of the cavern — 

“ Will you, ladies/’ said he, “ enter this cavern, where we will speedily rejoin 
you.’’ 

The ladies obeyed* 


CHAPTER X. 

Across country. 

Tunviwo towards the two gauchos, who were carelessly leaning over the side of the 
boat — 

“ I have paid you, you are free now to leave us,” said the guaranis to them, 
“ unless you consent to make a new bargain with this gentleman.” 

“ Let us see the bargain,” answered one of the two gauchos. 

“ First, are you both free ? ” 

“ Yes; this calallero is my brother; his name is Mataseis, and mine Sacatripas ; 
where one goes, the other follows.” 

Tyro bowed with a delighted air. The reputation of these two caballeros had long 
been known, and Tyro was well acquainted with it. They were two of the most 
noted bandits of all the Banda Orientale. Under present circumstances, nothing 
could have happened better. 

“Very well,” resumed Tyro, “ I am happy, caballeros , I have to deal with men 
like you.” 

“ Well, let us know what you want,” answered Mataseis. 

“ Would you like to remain in the service of this Caballero?” 

“ On what conditions ? Besides, it would be well to know if the service will be 
hard,” pursued Mataseis. 

“ It will be ; it will commit you tc do all, you understand — all” added he. 

“ That is the least consideration, if it pays well.” 

“ Five onces per month each ; will that suit you ? ” 

The two bandits exchanged a look. 

“Agreed,” said they. 

“ Here is a month in advance,” resumed Tyre, taking a handful of gold from his 
pocket. 

The gauchos held out their hands with a movement of joy, and instantly pocketed 
the gold. 


A cross Country. 


41 


“ Only, understand that a month begun must finish, and that when you wish to 
quit the service of this calallero, you must give him eight days’ notice.” 

“ We accept them.” 

44 Swear then to keep them faithfully.” 

The two bandits opened their ponchos, took in their hands the scapularies hanging 
at their necks, and, taking off their hats, and raising their eyes to heaven with an 
emotion worthy a more Christian oath — 

44 We swear on these blessed scapularies to keep the conditions accepted by us,” 
said they, both together ; 44 may we lose the portion we hope for in paradise, and 
be damned, if we fail in the oath we freely give.” 

“ Very good,” said Tyro ; and turning towards the Indian, while the gauchos, 
after dropping their scapularies, put them in their breasts again—' 4 And you, Neuo, 
will you remain in the service of your master ? ” 

44 That would be impossible,” boldly answered the Indian ; 44 1 have another 
master ” 

“ Very good ; you are free. Go.” 

Neno did not require the request to be repeated. After bowing to the painter, he 
leaped lightly out of the boat, and proceeded hastily towards San Miguel. 

The guaranis followed him a minute with his eyes ; then, leaning towards Saca^ 
tripas, he whispered a word into his ear. 

The bandit made an affirmative gesture with his head, gently touched his brother’s 
arm, and both, rapidly landing, set off running, and disappeared in the darkness. 

“ These demons will be very valuable to you, master.” 

44 1 believe so, but they appear to me atrocious scoundrels.” 

The guaranis smiled, without answering. 

44 Do you not consider the conduct of this Neno shabby, after so many kindnesses 
that I have done him ? ” pursued the painter. 

44 You do not know all that he has done, master.” 

44 What do you mean ? ” 

44 It is he who has betrayed you.” 

44 You knew that ! ” cried the young man, with violence, “and you have brought 
this wretch with us ? ” 

44 Listen, master,” coldly answered the guaranis. 

At this moment a cry of agony pierced the air. Although far off, it had such an 
expression of anguish and of grief that the painter involuntarily trembled, and felt 
himself covered with a cold perspiration. 

44 Oh ! ” cried he ; 44 it is the cry of a man who is being murdered. What is hap- 
pening ? Mon Dieu ! ” 

And he made a movement to jump out of the barque. 

“Stop, master,” said Tyro, “it is useless.” 

44 What do you mean ? ” 

44 1 mean, master, that your gauchos have commenced their services ; you see 
that they are valuable men. Go and rejoin the ladies, while I conceal the boat.” 

The young man rose, without answering, and quitted the boat, staggering like a 
drunken man. 

44 It is frightful ! ” murmured he ; “ and yet, perhaps, the death of this wretch may 
save the life of three persons.” 

He proceeded to the gallery and rejoined the ladies, who were trembling close to 
each other, not understanding the prolonged absence of the young man. 

The sight of the Frenchman re-assured them. 

“ What shall we do now ? ” asked the marchioness, in a low voice. 

“In a few minutes we shall know,” answered Emile; 44 we must wait.* 

At this moment the guaranis appeared, followed by Mataseis. 


♦8 


Th e In * u * gen t Chief, 


“ r have sunk the barque,” said the Indian, “ in order to destroy the traces of ctli? 
Journey. The brother of this senor has gone out as a scout ; come.” 

They followed him. 

The Indian proceeded in the darkness with as much ease as in full daylight. The 
fugitives were soon sufficiently near, for the sound of several voices reached 
them. 

Tyro twice imitated the sound of an owl. A profound silence immediately 
reigned in the cavern ; then a man appeared, holding in one hand a lantern, and in 
the other a loaded pistol. 

This man was Don Santiago Pincheyra. 

“ Who goes there? ” asked he, in a threatening tone. 

“ A friend,” answered the painter. 

“ Ah 1 ah ! your expedition has succeeded, it appears ? ” answered the MontoncrOa 
“So much the better ; I began to be uneasy at your long absence.” 

They entered the cavern, in which were a dozen Montoneros. 

With a delicacy which, in such a man, would not have been suspected, the Mon- 
tonero approached the two ladies, whom, notwithstanding their costume, he had dis- 
covered, and, bowing to them as he presented them with silk neckerchiefs — 

“ Cov, r your faces, ladies,” said he respectfully. “ It will be better for no one to 
know who you are. At a later time you would not, perhaps, be much pleased to be 
recognised by one of the companions whom fate gives you to-day.” 

“ Thank you, senor; you are really a caballero,” graciously answered the mar- 
chioness. 

This happy thought of the Montonero preserved the incognito of the fugitives. 

“ As to us,” continued he, addressing the painter, “ we are men capable or 
answering for our acts.” 

“ It is of little consequence for us to be recognised,” answered the latter ; “ is every- 
thing ready ?” 

“ Everything is ready ; I have a numerous troop of bold companions concealed 
like gKanacas in the thicket. We will leave when you like.” 

“ Well, I think the sooner the better.” 

“ Oh 1 then nothing prevents us ; let me just give a look out, and I will tell you 
when it is time to rejoin me.” 

And after having with a gesture ordered his companions to follow him, the Mo 
tonero disappeared in the gallery. 

There only remained in the cavern the two ladies, the painter, and the guaranis. 

“My good Tyro,” then said Emile, “I do not know how to acknowledge your 
devotion ; you are not cne of those men whom one pays, but, before separating, 2 
should wish to give you a proof of ” 

“ Pardon, master,” interrupted Tyro. “ You spoke of separating ? ” 

“ Y es, my friend, and believe me, that this causes me real sorrow.” 

“ You are then discontented with my services, master ? If it is so, excuse me, I shall 
try for the future better to understand your intentions.” 

“ What ! ” cried the young man, with a joyful surprise, “you intend to follow 
me, notwithstanding the dangers which surround us? ” 

“ These dangers would themselves be an additional reason for me not to leave 
you, master,” he answered. “ Although I may be but a poor Indian, nevertheless, 
there are certain occasions when one is happy to know that there is a devoted heart 
available.” 

“Tyro,” said the Frenchman, profoundly touched with the simple and sincere 
affection of this man, “ you are no longer my servant, you are my friend.” 

“ Thank you, oh ! thank you,” answered he, kissing his hand; “then you agree 
that I shall accompany you ? ” 


A cross Country. 


49 


** P' 1 r dieu / ” cried he, “it is now between us for life.” 

“And you will speak to me as before.” 

I will speak to you as you wish ; are you content? ” 

Thank you once more, master. Oh 1 make your mind easy ; you shall never 
repent your kindness.” 


1 hey then went to the gallery ; the horses of the young man were not in the stable, 
which had been assigned to them, but he did not disquiet himself on that account. 

I hey soon came out into the midst of the underwood, where, the night before, the 
Spaniards and the patriots had waged battle. A numerous troop ot horsemen was 
stationed silent before the cavern. 

1 i e guaranis had taken precautions; when the Montonero came out into the 
open air, he immediately found the gaucho, holding several horses by the bridle. 

‘‘ Here are your horses, ladies,” said he. 

The marchioness thanked him. The Indian fastened behind the horses the valises 
that she had given him, and then assisted the mother and the daughter to place them* 
selves in the saddles. 

Emile, the Montonero, and the gaucho were already mounted. 

At the moment when the guaranis put his feet in the stirrups, a sharp whistle was 
heard in the woods. 

“ There is our scout,” said he. 

Sacatripas, indeed, almost immediately appeared. 

The gaucho appeared to have been running rapidly. 

“ Let us go, let us go ! ” said he, in a sad voice ; “if we do not want to be smoked 
out like wolves. In less than half an hour they will be here.” 

“ The devil ! ’’ cried the Montonero ; “ that is bad news, companion ; but let us 
away.” 

The horsemen applied the spurs as they loosed their bridles, and all the troop 
darted forward in the darkness with the rapidity of a hurricane. 

The two ladies were placed between Emile and the guaranis, who were them- 
selves each flanked by a gaucho. There was something strange and fantastic in 
the mad course of this black legion, flying in the darkness, silent and sad, with the 
irresistible rapidity of a wniilwind. 

The flight continued thus for several hours; the horses gasped; and some even 
began to stumble. 

“ Whatever happens, we must stop an hour,’’ murmured the Pincheyra. 

“ Let us only reach the rancho of the Quemado ” said Tyro. 

“ What good will that be ? ” sharply replied the Montonero ; “ we still are two 
leagues from it at least; our horses will be completely knocked up.” 

“ What matter? I have prepared a relay.” 

“ A relay ! We are too numerous.” 

“Two hundred horses await us.” 

“ Two hundred horses ! Your master is very rich.” 

“ He? ” said the Indian, laughing, “he is as poor as Job. But,” added he, sig- 
nificantly, “ his companions are rich.” 

“ Then,” cried the Montonero, with feverish emotion, “ ahead l ahead l com- 
panions.” 

The journey was continued with feverish rapidity. 

A little before sunrise they reached the rancho. It was time they did so; the 
horses were only kept up by the bridle; they stumbled at each step. 

Their masters, with that careless philosophy which characterises the gauchos, 
after having relieved them of their saddles, abandoned the horses, and followed the 
cavalcade as well as they could by running. 

The rancho of the (iuemado was in some respects but a vast shed. 


The Insurgent Chief. 


& 


Each man soon caught the horse which he wanted, and proceeded to harness it. 

There remained eighty or one hundred horses in the enclosure. 

** We must not leave these horses here,” said the Montonero ; “ our enemie* 
Trould make use of them.” 

“ It is easy to avoid that,” observed Tyro; “ there is a yegva madrinn , we will put 
a bell on her; the horses will follow her.” 

“ Pardieu ! you are a valuable comrade,” replied the Montonero, joyously ; u no- 
thing is more easy.’’ 

The order was immediately given by him, and the spare horses were soon out o 
sight in the direction of the mountains, under the escort of some horsemen. 

The horses, thus at libeity, could make long tracks without fatiguing themselves. 
This mode of relay is generally adopted in America. 

“ Now,” resumed the Montonero, “ I think we shall do well to mount horse 
again.” 

“ Yes, and to set out again,” added Emile. 

In the first rays of the sun, which glittered on their arms, a numerous troop of 
horsemen was perceived coming towards them at full speed. 

“ Rayo de Dios / ” cried Don Santiago ; “ the scout was right ; we were closely 
followed.” 

They set out again. 

This time the journey was not so rapid. 

Once in the passes of the Cordilleras, they were saved. 

The flight, however, could not but be fatiguing to the two ladies, who, accustomed 
to all the refinements of luxury, could onl/ keep themselves on horseback by dint of 
great energy. Tyro and his master were obliged to keep constantly by their side, 
and watch over them attentively. Without this precaution they would have fallen 
from their horses. 

“ But who has betrayed us ? ” suddenly exclaimed Don Santiago. 

“ I know him.” answered Sacatripas. 

“You know him, senor? Well, then, you will do me the pleasure of telling me, 
will you not ? ” 

“ It is useless. The man who has betrayed you is dead ; but he was killed two 
hours too late.” 

“ That is unfortunate, indeed ; and why too late ? ” 

** Because he had had time to speak.” 

“ A good many things can be said in two hours, especially when there is no in- 
terruption. And you are sure of that ? ” 

“ Perfectly sure.” 

“ At least,” philosophically replied the Montonero, “ we have the consolation of 
being certain that he will speak no more — there is something in that. As to the 
men who follow us,” added he. 

But he suddenly checked himself, uttering a horrible oath, and bounding from his 
saddle. 

“ What is the matter? ” asked Emile, with uneasiness. 

“ Mil demonios ! — that these picaros are gaining on us every moment.” 

“ Oh ! oh ! ” quickly cried the young man ; “ do you think so ? ” 

“ Why, look yourself.” 

The painter looked; the Montonero had spoken truly. The enemy’s troop was 
Sensibly approaching. 

“ Carai ! I do not know what I would give to know who are those demons.” 

“They are part of the squadron of Don Zeno Cabral.” 

“ So much the better 1 ” said the Montonero, witn rage ; 4 ‘ I shall perhaps hav* 
my revenge.” 


Across Country. 


5 l 


“ Do you intend to fight these people ?” 

'** Do you think that I will allow myself to be shot ? ” 

“ I do not say that ; but it appears to me that we can redouble our pace.” 

” What good will that be ? Do you not see that these fellows have with them a 
fresh recua, and that they will still overtake us ? ” 

“ As affairs stand, I believe, with you, that that will be the best,” said Emile. 

“ G; od ! ” answered Don Santiago, “ you are a man 1” 

Then, without any one foreseeing what was his intention, he made his horse sud- 
denly dait off, and dashed at full speed to the front of the patriots. 

“ Tyro,” then said Emile, addressing the guaranis, “ take with you the two 
brothers, and put the marchioness and her daughter in safety.” 

“ Senor, why separate us? ’’ asked the marchioness, with a sorrowrul air ; “would 
it not be better for us to remain near you ? ” 

“ Pardon me for insisting on this ten porary separation, madame. I have sworn 
to do all I can to save you, and I will keep my word.” 

The marchioness only answered by a sigh. 

“You will not abandon these ladies under any pretevt,” continued the young 
man, addressing the Indian ; ’* and if misfortune happen to me during the combat, 
you will continue to serve them. May I reckon on you? ” 

“ As on yourself master.” 

“Advance then ! and God protect you.” 

On a sign from the Indian the gauchos took by the bridle the horses of the two 
ladies, and set off at a gal op. 

The painter who, as they galloped, followed them with his eyes, saw them dis- 
appear in the midst of a thick clus-er of trees. 

“ Thank God ! Conquerors or conquered, they will not fall into the hands of their 
persecutors,” said he. 

Suddenly, several shots afar off were heard. Emile looked round and perceived 
Don Santiago, who was returning at full speed towards his troop, brandishing his 
carbine above his head. 

Three or four horsemen were in hot pursuit of him. 

Arrived at a certain distance the Spaniard stopped, shouldered his carbine and 
fiied, and then started off again at a gallop. 

A horseman fell ; the others retreated. 

The Spaniard soon found himself again in the midst of his own people. 

“ Halt !” cried he, with a voice of thunder. 

The troop immediately stopped. 

“ Companions, loyal subjects of the king,” continued he ; “I have reconnoitred 
these lacrones ; they are scarcely forty. Advance ! ” 

“ Fcrward ! ” lepeated the troop, rushing forward with him. 

Emile charged with the others — with rather a sullen air, it is true ; he cared as 
little for the king as for the country, and it appeared to him wiser to have made their 
escape as rapidly as possible. 

Notwithstanding their small number, the patriots did not appear at all intimidated* 

The shock was terrible ; the two troops resolutely attacked each other with their 
swords, and soon found themselves mingled together. 

In the melee Emile recog ised Don Zeno Cabral. He darted towards him, and, 
striking with the chest of his horse that of his adve:sary, fatigued with a long 
journey, the latter was overthrown. 

Leaping immediately to the ground, the young man immediately put his knee to 
Hie chest of Don Zeno. 

‘ Death ! dea h ! ” cried Don Santiago, who now came up. 

4 ‘ Let the fight cease,” answered Emile, turning towards him ; “ this gentleman 


The insurgent ChieJ. 


(1 

h — 

has surrendered, on condition that he shall be free to return to San Miguel with hif 
companions. 

“ Who has authorised you to make conditions?” said the Montonero. 

“ The service I have rendered you, and the promise you have made me.” 

The Spaniard suppressed a gesture of rage. 

“Well,” answered he, after a pause; “you wish it; let it be so, but you will 
repent of it. Retreat ! ” 

“ Y ou are free,” said the young man, holding out his hand to Don Zeno. 

The latter darted a fierce glance at him. 

« I am obliged to accept your offer,” said he, “ but all is not finished between us. 
We shall see one another again.” 

“ I hope so,” simply answered the young man ; and, remounting his horse, ho 
rejoined his companions, already a good way off. 


CHAPTER XI. 

EL RINCON DEL BOSQUECILLO. 

It was about the middle of summer. The heat had been suffocating all day near 
the llano de Manso. At some distance was a small stream nearly dried up. On 
an elevated bank there was a thick wood, a kind of oasis planted by the hands of 
God. Black swans drifted down the stream, crocodiles wallowed in the mire ; par- 
tridges and turtle-doves flew to the shelter of the u^s. Everything seemed as it 
came from the hands of the Creator. 

But it was not so ; the llano de Manso is in some respects a neutral territory, where 
the tribes rendezvous to feast, and where they for a time forget their hatred and 
rivalry. 

The whites have but rarely, and at long intervals, penetrated into this country, and 
always with some apprehension ; so much the more, as the Indians, continually 
beaten back by civilisation — feeling the importance of preserving this territory for 
themselves — defended its approaches with unspeakable fury, torturing and massa- 
cring without pity the whites whom curiosity or ill-fortune brought into this region. 

The sun was rapidly setting on the horizon, considerably lengthening the shadow 
of the rocks, bushes, and a few trees here and there scattered in the llano. The 
panthers already commenced to utter their hoarse and mournful growlings as they 
sought their drinking-places ; the jaguars bounded out of their dens with dull cries 
of anger, lashing with their powerful tails their panting sides ; troops of wild oxen 
and horses fled frightened before these dreadful kings of the night, whom the first 
hours of evening rendered masters of the desert. 

At the moment when the sun, having reached the level of the horizon, was 
drowned, so to say, in waves of purple and gold, a troop of horsemen appeared on 
the right bank of the Rio Vermejo, proceeding apparently towards the bank of which 
we have spoken. 

These horsemen were Indian Guaycurus. 

They formed a troop of about fifty men, all armed as warriors, and not having 
any tuft of ostrich feathers or streamers at the point of their lances — which showed 
that they were on s ome important expedition. 


El Rincon del Bosquecillo. 


53 


A little in advance of the troop were two men, chiefs, as was shown by the vulture’s 
feather placed in their red bands. 

They wore variegated ponchos, trousers of brown holland, and boots made of 
leather from horse’s legs. Thei; arms — taco bolas, lance and knives — were the same 
as those of their companions; but here the resemblance stopped. 

The first was a young man of twenty-two at the most. His figure was tall, 
elegant, supple, and well-formed; his manners noble, his least gesture graceful. 
No pain ing, no tattooing, disfigured his expressive features, of almost feminine beauty, 
but to which — an extraordinary thing in an Indian — a black beard, short and frizzled, 
gave a masculine and decided expression. This beard, added to the dull wh te of 
the skin of the young man, would have made him pass easily for a white man, if he 
had worn a European costume. 

The young man was the principal chief of the warriors by whom he was at this 
moment followed. He was named Gueyma, and enjoyed a great reputation in his 
tribe for wisdom and bravery. 

His companion as far as it was possible — in spite of his upright figure, his hair 
black as the raven’s wing, and his countenance free from wrinkles — to fix his age 
with any certainty, was about seventy. However, as we have said, no sign of de- 
crepitude was observable in him ; his eye shone with all the fire of youth, his limbs 
were supple and vigorous ; his teeth, of which not one was missing, were brilliantly 
white, rendered more striking by the dark hue of his complexion, although, like the 
other chief, he had neither tattoo nor painting ; but, in default of physical signs of 
old age, the expression of severity on his fine and intelligent countenance, his 
emphatic gestures, and the measured slowness with which he let fall the least word, 
would have proved to every man accustomed to the Indians that this chief was very 
aged. 

In the centre of the troop were two men whom it was easy to recognise as 
Europeans. 

These men, though they were without arms, appeared to be treated, if not as com- 
pletely free, at least with a certain consideration. 

They were two young men of twenty-five or twenty-eight, dressed in the costume 
of Brazilian officers, with fine bold features, and careless and hearty expression. 
They galloped in the midst of the Indian warriors without appearing to concern 
themselves in any way as to the place whither they were being conducted, and talked 
gaily. 

The sun had set below the horizon, and perfect darkness had almost immediately 
replaced the light of day, at the moment when the Indians were ascending at a 
gallop the scarcely-traced path which led to the summit of the bank, and gave access 

to the wood. 

Arrived in the middle of a glade — from which sprang a stream of water, clear and 
limpid, which, after a tortuous course through the rocks, fell in the form of a splendid 
cascade into the Rio Vermejo, from a height of forty or fifty feet — the young Gueyma 
chiel stopped his horse, leaped from his saddle, and ordered his warriors to instal 
themselves in a camp for the night. 

The latter obeyed ; they immediately alighted, and quickly occupied themselves 
with secuiing the horses, giving them provender, lighting the watch-fires, and in 
preparing the repast for the evening. 

Some five or six warriors alone preserved their arms. 

The two Brazilian officers, no doubt fatigued with the long journey during the 
great heat of the day, had, with a sigh of relief, heard the order of the chief, and had 
obeyed it with speed. 

Twenty minutes later the fires were lighted, a covering constructed to shelter the 
whites against the abundant dew of the morning, and the warriors, clustered in little 


The Insurgeut Chief 




groups of four or five, ate with a good appetite the simple provisions placed before 
them — consisting for the most part of yams, baked under ashes, of the meal of 
manioc, amtof meat dried in the sun, and roasted over the fire. 

The chiefs had, t trough a warrior, invited the Brazilian officers to take part in the 
meal — a courteous invitation that the latter had accepted with so much the more 
pleasure as, with the exception of gourds full of sugar-cane brandy, which they carried 
at their saddles, they .were completely without provisions. 

The offi ers, alter a ceremonious bow, seated themselves on the grass, and 
attacked the provisions set before them, at first with a certain forbearance which 
politeness demanded ; but they soon gave way to the most imperious demands of 
their appeti es. 

“ EpM ! ” said the old chief, “ I am happy, gentlemen, to see you so much enjoy 
so poor a meal.” 

“Upon my word,” aaswered one of the officers, “it comes at a time when we 
cannot disdain it.” 

“ Hum I ” said the second. “ it is jtfst twenty-four hours since we have eaten.’’ 

** Why did you not say that before? ” resumed the chief. 

“ A thousand thanks for your kindness, chief ; but it did not suit our dignity to 
make such a request.” 

“ The whites have strange scruples,” murmured Gueyma, speaking rather to him- 
self than to the officers. 

However, they heard the remark, to which one of them replied — 

“ It is not a question of delicacy, chief, but an innate feeling of propriety amongst 
men who respect themselves.’’ 

“ You will excuse us senor, pursued Gueyma, “ we Indians, almost savages, as 
you call us, know nothing of those subtle distinctions ; the life of the desert does not 
teach such things.” 

“ And we are, perhaps, only the more happy that it is so,” added the old chief. 

“ Possibly,” answered the officer. “ Let us quit this subject, and allow me to offer 
you a mouthful of brandy.” 

And, after having uncorked his gourd, he presented it to the chief. 

The latte r, pushing away the gourd, looked in astonishment at the officer. 

“ You refuse me?” asked the latter; “for what motive, chief? ” 

The Indian several times shook his head. 

“ My son is not accustomed to be in the company of the Guaycurus,” said he. 

“ Why this question, chief?” 

“ Because,” answered he, “ if it were otherwise, the young pale chief would know* 
that the Guaycurus warriors never drink that liquid whicn the whites name ardent 
spirits, and which makes them stupid.” 

“ Excuse my ignorance, chief; I had no intention of offending you.” 

“ Where there is no intention,” answered the old chief, smiling, * an injury cannot 
exist.” 

“ Well spoken, mv master,” gaily pursued the young man. 

“ First,” said one of the officers, when the meal was concluded, “ let me tell you, 
that since chance has brought me among you, I am a prey to continual astonish- 
ment.” 

“ Epoi /’» said the chief, smiling ; “ indeed ! ” 

“ Upon my word, yes. I had never seen an Indian. At Rio de Janeiro, when 
they spoke to me of the red-skins, they were represented as savage, fierce, faithless— 
entirely sunk in the most horrible barbarism.” 

“ Ah, ah ! and what does the pale-face now see ? ” 

“ Wti y. 1 see men brave, intelligent— enjoying a civilisation different to ours, it is 
Hue, but which is civilisation, nevertheless — chiefs like you and your companion tor 


El Rincon del Eosquecillo, 


55 


example, speaking the Portuguese language as well as mvself. That is what I have 
seen among you up to the present time, chief, without taking account of the white 
complexion of your companion, which, added to his features, gives him rather the 
appearance of a European. 

The two chiefs smiled, and the elder resumed, with an expression of pride — 

“ The Guaycurus are descendants of the great Tupinambas, the ancient possessors 
of Brazil, before the whites had robbed them of their territory. They are called by 
mjC pale-faces themselves cavalheiros. 

“ So,” said the officer, “ the Guaycurus are the most civilised among the Indians ? ’* 

“The only civilised,” answered the chief, with pride 

“ I admit it. chief; but that does not explain to me how it is that you speak our 
language with perfection.” 

“ The Congonar has lived many years,” atnswered he ; the snows of manv a 
great winter have fallen on his head since he saw the light. The Congonar was a 
warrior before the pale-face was born. At that time the chief visited the great 
villages of the whites ; for several moons he even lived amongst them. The whites 
taught the Congonar their language. Has my son any other questions to ask 
him ? ” 

“ No, chief ; I thank you sincerely for the frank and friendly way in which you 
have been pleased to answer me. I am the more delighted, as this sympathy cannot 
but be very conducive to the satisfactory termination of the business we have in 
hand.” 

“ I hope it may be so.” 

“ And I also, with all my heart. Are we still far distant from the place where the 
interview is to take place ? ” 

“Then let my son rejoice, for we have reached the spot assigned by the Guaycurus 
captains to the chiefs of the pale-faces.” 

“ What! we have already reached the place called by the Spaniards the Rincon 
del Bosquecillo ? ” 

“ It is here.” 

“Thank God, for the general will not be long before he comes here, as we have 
already come; and now, chief, accept again my thanks. I am going, with your 
permission, to take a few hours’ repose.” 

“ Let my sons sleep ; sleep is good for young men,” answered the chief, with a 
benevolent smile. 

The officers immediately withdrew under the awning prepared for them, and were 
not long before they si pt. 

The chiefs remained, facing each other. 

The Guaycurus warriors, stretched before the fires, slept, enveloped in their 
ponchos. 

The Congonar looked for a moment pensively at his companion. 

“ Of what is Gueyma thinking at this moment?” said he, in a gentle voice ; “ is 
he communing with his heart? Do his thoughts recall the pleasant memory of 
Dove’s Eye, the maid with the blue eyes? oris his mind occupied with to-morrow? ” 

The young man started, raised his hea 1, and. fixing an uncertain, flashing look 
upon the old chief, who looked at him wuh sadness — 

“ No,” answered he, in a low voice, somewhat trembling with emotion, “ my 
father has not seen clearly into the heart of his son ; the memory of Dove’s Eye is 
always present to the thought of Gueyma ; there is no need for it to be evoked to 
appear. The result of the council of to-morrow is of little consequence to the young 
Chief ; his mind is seeking for his father.” 

The face of the old chief suddenly clouded, 

‘‘This thought still torments my son? ” 




The Insurgent Chief. 


« Alwavs 1 ” said the young- man, with animation, “ until the Congonar has ful- 
filled his promise.” 

“ What is this promise that my son reminds me of?” 

“That of telling me the name of my father — how it is that from a child I have 
never seen him.” 

“ Yes, it is true/’ answered the Congonar, “ I have made this promise ; but you iB 
return made me one.” 

“Yes; let mv father pardon me, I remember it; but my father is good; he will 
be indulgent towards a young man.” 

“ My son is not only one of the bravest warriors of his tribe, but he is also one of 
its most renowned chiefs ; he owes to all the example of patience. Another moon 
shall not pass without my revealing to him the secret that he is so anxious to 
learn.” 

After having pronounced these words in a severe voice, mingled with affection, the 
old chief enveloped himself in his poncho, stretched himself on the ground, and 
closed his eyes. 

Gueyma looked at him a moment with a strange mixture of anger, respect, 
and depression, and then he gave a deep sigh, allowed his head to fall on his breast, 
and fell into a reverie of bitter reflections. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE TREATY. 

Aro«t half-past four in the morning, the darkness by degrees paled before the first 
rays of tne sun; the sky was covered with broad streaks of changing colour. 

The Indians are not generally heavy sleepers; so the sun had scarcely appeared 
above the horizon than they all awoke and proceeded to dress, washing themselves 
every day; for the Guaycuius, contrary to other American tribes, number among 
their characteristics that of strict cleanliness. 

At the voice of Congonar, they united in a semicircle, their eyes turned towards 
the rising sun, and addressed a ferment prayer to the radiant orb of day. 

This pious duty accomplished, the warriors arose, and immediately shared the 
labours of the camp. 

Some led the horses to water ; others rubbed them down carefully ; some went to 
cut wood, in order to rekindle the smouldering fires, whilst some five or six chosen 
warriors, leaping on their bare-backed horses, started off into the savannah, to pro- 
cure by hunting the necessary provisions for their breakfast. 

In a few minutes the camp offered a most animated picture; for just as the Indians 
are idle and careless when their wives, to whom they abandon all the domestic work, 
are with them, so they are active and alert in the r war expeditions. 

The Brazilian officers, awakened by the noise and movements which were being 
made around them, came out from the canopy under which they had passed the 
night, and proceeded gaily to mix among the groups of Indians. 

The Guaycurus received them in the most cordial way, laughing and talking witb 
them, affably inquiring if they had well slept, and if they were completely recovered 
from their latigue of the previous day. 


The Treaty. 


57 


Soon all was in order in the camp ; the horses which had been led to water were 
again attached to piquets, with a good supply of fresh grass; the huntsmen re- 
turned loaded with game ; and the morning meal, prepared in all haste, was soon 
served to the guests on laige banana and palm leaves. 

Immediately after breakfast, the Congonar dispatched several scouts in different 
directions. 

“ Your friends are late in arriving,” said he to the Brazilian officers; “perhaps 
something has occurred to hinder them.” 

The officers bowed as a sign of assent ; they had nothing to reply to this observa- 
tion. 

Several hours thus passed. The Guaycurus warriors talked among themselves, 
smoked, or fished from the banks of the Rio Vermejo ; but no Indian wandered far 
from the camp, in the midst of which was raised, as a standard, the long lance of 
Gueyma planted in the ground, and having floating at its summit a white banner 
made with a handkerchief borrowed from the officers. 

About eleven in the morning the sentinels signalled the appearance of two troops 
coming from two opposite directions, but both riding towards the camp. 

The Guaycurus chief dispatched two warriors towards these troops. 

The latter returned in a very few minutes. 

They had recognised the strangers. The first were Macobis, and the others 
Trentones. 

But almost immediately appeared a third troop, then a fourth, then a fifth, and at 
last a sixth. 

Scouts were immediately dispatched to meet them, and they were not long in 
returning, announcing that they were detachments of Chiriguanos, Langoas, Abi- 
pones, and Payagoas. 

“ Epoi,” answered the Congonar ; “ the warriors will camp at the foot of the 
hill.” 

The scouts then set off at full speed, and proceeded to communicate to the captains 
of the different detachments the orders of their chief. 

Arrived at a certain distance from the bank, on the summit of which the camp of 
the Guaycurus was established, the Indian detachments stopped, uttered their war- 
cry with a resounding voice, and, after having executed certain evolutions, making 
their horses caracole, they proceeded to establish themselves at the points which had 
been assigned to them. 

The chiefs of their detachments, followed each by two warriors more particularly 
attached to their persons, ascended the hill at a gallop and entered the camp, where 
they were received in the most cordial way by the Guaycurus chiefs. 

After a rather long interchange of compliments, in which all the minute exigencies 
of Indian etiquette were studied, the chiefs proceeded together towards the council- 
fire, where all sat down. 

There was then perfect silence in the assembly. The slaves gave to each some 
Jobacco rolled in palm leaves, and sent round the mate. 

When the cup had passed from hand to hand, and when the last puff of smoke 
had been drawn from the rolls of tobacco, Gueyma made a gesture with his hand — ■ 

“Allied captains of the powerful and invincible tribe of the Guaycurus,” he said, 
*‘1 am happy to see you here, and at the readiness you have shown in coming at 
the invitation of the members of the supreme council of our tribe. The reason for 
this extraordinary assembly is extremely important; you will soon learn it.” 

A Payagoa chief, aged and of respectable aspect, bowed and answered — 

“ Captain of the Guaycurus, although still very young, you unite in yourself the 
prudent circumspection of the agouti with the fervid courage of the jaguar. The 
Words that you utter are inspired by the Great Spirit. In the name of the captain# 


58 


The Insurgent Chief . 


here present, I thank you for the latitude you give us in leaving to us entire freedom 
as to our determinations.” 

The other chiefs bowed, and each in his turn, with his hand placed on his heart, 
pronounced these words — 

“ Emavidi Chaime, the great captain of the Payagoas, has spoken as a prudent 
man : wisdom is in him.” 

At this moment one of the sentinels signalled the approach of a numerous 
troop. 

“ Here are those with whom we shall now confer,” said Gueyma. “ To horse, 
brothers 1 and let us go to meet them, to do them honour.” 

The captains immediately rose and mounted their horses. 

Gueyma and the Congonar put themselves at their head : the troop, composed of 
some fifteen chiefs, all chosen horsemen and warriors, renowned in their tribes, rode 
like a hurricane from the top to the bottom of the hill, and darted at full speed through 
the plain, raising in its passage thick clouds of greyish dust. 

Meanwhile the new-comers rapidly approached. 

The troop was composed but of ten horsemen, of whom two were Indians, and 
appeared to act as guides to those who followed them. 

The latter were whites — Brazilians — as was easy to discover by their costume. 

He who rode at the head of the little troop was a man of some fifty years. With 
noble and haughty features, and refined and elegant manners, he wore the rich gold- 
embroidered uniform of a general. Although he sat upright and firmly on his horse, 
and his full black eye seemed to flash witn all the fire of youth, nevertheless, his 
greyish hair, and the deep wrinkles of his forehead, added to the careworn and pensive 
expression of his countenance, gave proof of a life which had been much tried. 

The horseman who was at his side wore the costume of a captain, and the insignia 
of an aide-de-camp ; he was about twenty-three or twenty-four. He had a proud 
eye and noble and regular features. 

The six other horsemen were dressed in the costume of soldiers of the conquista; 
one of the two bore the insignia of a sub-officer. 

As to the Indians, who probably acted as guides to the troop, they did not carry 
any apparent arms, but by their dress and by the feather planted in the bright 
red band which circled their forehead, it was easy to recognise them as Gua>curus 
chiefs. 

Both — warriors of a certain age, and of sombre and reserved appearance — 
galloped silently side by side, their eyes obs’inately fixed in front, and not appearing 
in any way to occupy themselves with the Brazilians. 

As they rode, the two officers talked with a freedom which, considering the 
difference of grade, showed a certain intimacy between them. 

“ Here we are at last, arrived at the Bosquecillo,” said the captain, “ and this 
river is the Rio Vermejo, which we have been obliged twice to cross. Upon my 
word — saving the respect that I owe you, general — I am happy to see at last this 
mysterious territory.” 

“ Hush ! Don Paulo,” answered the general, u do not speak so loud ; our guides 
can hear you.” 

“ Bah ! Do you think so, general ? At this distance ? ” 

“ 1 know the sharpness of ear of these fellows.” 

“ I will follow your counsel, general — especially as, according to what you tell 
me, you have had some experience of these Indians.” 

” Yes,” answered the general, “ I had something to do with them on a terrible 
occasion ; and although long years have flown since then, the memory of it is 
always present to my thoughts. But let us quit that subject and speak of the 
occasion which brings us to-day in these parts. X do not conceal from you, my 


The T'eaty. 


r 0 


friend, that, honourable as may be the mission which has been confided to me, i 
Consider it extremely difficult.” 

“ Is that really your opinion, general ? ” 

** Certainly. I should not wish to speak diplomatically with you.” 

“ Do you fear treachery ? ” 

“ Who knows ? however, as far as I know, I feel assured that all will be done 
honourably.” 

“Hum ! Do you know, general, that our friends would be in a terrible position 
if the fancy seized the Indians to violate the right of nations ? For it appears to me 
that if our guides should have the desire to leave us in the lurch, nothing would be 
more easv for them, and then what hostages would answer for the lives of our com- 
panions ? ” 

“ What you say is very true; unhappily, I have not been able to take any ether 
measures. Moreover, one thing re-assures me; it is, that if they had the intention 
of beiiaying us, they would not have waited until this moment to do so.” 

“ r l hat is true ; and in fact, if I am not deceived, here we are at the rendezvous.” 

“ Or at least we shall arrive there before half-an-hour.” 

“ Our guides have, without doubt, perceived something now, general ; for you see 
they have stopped.” 

“ Let us rejoin them, then, as soon as possible,” answered the general. 

The two Indians had indeed stopped to await the Brazilians. 

“ Well, captains,” said the general to them, in a cheerful voice, “ what has hap- 
pened that you stop thus ? ” 

“ My brother and I have stopped,” sententiously replied the elder of the two chiefs, 
“ because the captains come to meet the pale-faces.” 

“ We have, then, just reached the place ? ” 

“ Look,” pursued the chief, stretching put his arms towards the hill. 

“ Ah 1 ah 1 So I was not deceived; this hill is indeed the Rincon d'el Bosque- 
cillo ? ” 

“ That is the name which the pale-faces call it.” 

“Very well, I am charmed to know it$vith certainty. You say, then, chief, that 
the captains are coming ? ” 

“ You see that dust ? ” resumed the Indian ; “ it is raised by the hasty feet of the 
captains’ horses.” 

“ if it is so, captain, I shall be obliged to you, captain, to inform me what I ou^ht 
to do.” 

“ Nothing, but wait.” 

“ That is what I will do with pleasure. By the way, I avail myself of the oppor- 
tunity of thanking you personally, captain, for the honour with which your com- 
panion and you have gui ed us hitherto.” 

“We have only accomplished our duty.” 

“ Captain, honour compels me to acknowledge the loyalty with which you have 
Acquitted yourselves.” 

“ Tarou Niom and his brother I-me-oh-eh are Guaycurus captains ; treachery is 
unknown to them.” 

At the first name pronounced by the Indian chief the general had imperceptibly 
Started. 

“ The name of my father is Tarou Niom ? ” he asked. 

“Yes,” laconically answered the Indian; and he added, after a short pause, 
“these are the captains.” 

In fact, almost immediately the tall grass appeared to divide, and the Indians 
appeared. 

The pale-faces are welcome on the hunting-grounds of the Guaycurus,” said 


6o 


The Insurgent Chief. 


Gueyma, after he had gracefully bowed to the general ; ” the warriors of my tribe 
and of the allied tribes are lappy to see them ” 

“ I thank the captains for tluir kind words,” answered the general. “ I am ready 
to follow the captains to the place whither they please to conduct me.” 

After a few more words, the two troops, blended into one, resumed the direction of 
the hill. 

A few minutes afterwards the Brazilian officers, escorted by the Indian chiefs, 
reached the summit of the hill, where they were received with marks of lively joy. 

As soon as they had reached the camp, Gueyma stopped his horse, and, placing 
his right hand on the shoulder of one of the two officeis, who had come forward to 
meet the new-comers, he turned towards the general — 

** Here are the two hostages ; these men have been treated by us as brothers.” 

4 ‘ Indeed,” answered immediately one of the two officers, “ we hasten to state that 
vre have only to praise the conduct pursued towards us.” 

“ I think,” said the general, “ that the two Guaycurus captains confided to our 
keeping, to answer for the safety of our hostages, have not had to complain.” 

“ The pale-faces have acted honourably towards the Guaycurus warriors,” 
answered Tarou Niom. 

After some tew words the Brazilians were ceremoniously conducted before the 
council-fire. 

The general took his seat, having his officers at his side, while the soldiers silently 
ranged themselves behind. 

The Guaycurus chiefs and the captains of the other allied nations crouched on 
their heels in the Indian fashion, in face of the whites, from whom they were only 
separated by the fire. 

“ We beg,” said Guevma, “ the great captain of the pale-faces to repeat, as it has 
been agreed before the captains of the allied tribes, the propositions that he addressed 
to us on the Salto Grande, where we met at his request. These propositions com- 
municated by us to the allied captains, have been, I ought to state, well received by 
them ; however, before engaging themselves definitely, and contracting an offensive 
alhance with the pale-faces here assembled, against other men of the same colour, 
the captains wish to be assured that these conditions will be strictly and honourably 
executed by t! e whites, and that the red warriors will not afterwards have to repent 
having opened a complacent ear to perfidious counsels. Let my father speak then ; 
the chiefs will hear him with great attention.” 

The general bowed, and after having looked attentively on the crowd which, so to 
speak, hung upon his lips, he rose, leant carelessly on the handle of his sabre, and 
commenced in Portuguese— a language that the greater part of the chiefs spoke with 
ease, and which they all understood. 

“C ptains of the great allied tribes,” said the general, impressively, “youi white 
grandfather, the poweiful monarch that I have the honour to represent, has heard 
your complaints ; the tale of your misfortunes has moved his heart, always good 
and compassionate, and he has resolved to put an end to the disgraceful vexations 
cf which, for so many vears, the Soaniards have made you the victims.” 

A murmur of pleasure received this first pait of the general’s discourse. 

u T b e Spaniards,” pursued he, “ not content with oppressing you, have traitorously 
seized on large, rich, and fertile territories, belonging to that powerful monarch, my 
master. 1 hese territories he means to recover. Since the perfidious Spaniards con- 
tinually break the treaties concluded with them, my sovereign, seizing the oppor- 
tunity which presents itself, to render you that justice to which, as his children, you 
have a right, takes your cause in hand. He engages that the hunting-grounds 
which have been so unjustly taken from you shall be restored. But it is just, cap- 
tains, tb-^t you should s^ow yourselves giateiul. This is what, through me, the 


The Treaty. 


61 


powerful sovereign whom ! represent demands of you: you shall arm your chosen 
warriors, of whom you shall form detachments of horsemen under the orders of 
experienced captains. These detachments shall abandon the llano de Manso — or, 
a^ you call your territory, toe valley of Japizlaga; at a signal given by us, and from 
several points at the same time, they will invade the provinces of Tucuman and 
Cordova, so as to effect their junction with the Indians of the Pampas, and to harass 
'he Spaniards. The war ended, all the promises made through this guipos,” added 
he. throwing into the midst of the assembly a stick split half-way up, and garnished 
with cords of several colours in the form of chaplets, having seeds, shells, and flints 
strung upon it, and separated by knots tied in various ways, “ shall be strictly kept. 
Now I have given my guipos, thirty mules, loaded with lassos, bolas, ponchos, 
fressadas, bits for the horses, knives, &c., wait at the entrance of the llano, under 
the care of some soldiers. If you please, you can share among yourselves the 
treasures that the kinej, my master, deigns to present to you. On my return, if my 
propositions are accepted, I will give the order that all shall be given to you.” 

Warm applause followed the general’s speech, and he sat down again with the 
most unequivocal man festations of sympathy. 

The Indian captains commenced to converse among themselves, although in a low 
voice, and in a language incomprehensible to the Europeans. 

We will here draw the reader’s attention to a peculiarity that we have only met 
with in these regions, and especially among the Guavcurus. 

The men and the women have a language which pr^^nrs striking differences ; 
moreover, when they discuss diplomatic questions before the envoys of a foreign 
nation — as occurred at the present time — they produce by the contraction of the lips 
a hissing which has received among them certain recognised modifications, and 
which has thQs become a distinct language. 

Nothing is more curious than to be present at a serious deliberation, hissed in this 
way by the orators, with modulations and graces, which are really remarkable, and 
which produce a strange and mysterious effect. 

The general, meanwhile, talked in a low voice with his officers, sipping his mate, 
while the captains in turn discussed his propositions, as he conjectured, at least ; for 
it was impossible for him to understand anything, or even to seize a single word in 
the midst of this continual hissing and chirping. 

At last Gueyma rose, and after having claimed silence by a majestic gesture, he 
replied to the general in Portuguese — 

“ The captains.” said he, “ have listened to the words of the grand captain of the 
pale-faces with all the attention they deserve ; they have considered attentively the 
propositions which he has been charged to make to them. These propositions the 
captains find just and equitable; they accept them, begging the captain of the pale- 
faces to thank their white grandfather, and to assure him of the respect and devotion 
of his childien of the desert. From the twelfth sun after to-day the war detachments 
of the allied tribes will be ready, at the first signal, to invade the enemy’s frontiers. 
I have said it ; there is my guipos.” 

After these words he sat down, and threw in his guipos — a movement which was 
imitated by the other chiefs. 

The general thanked the council, requested his aide-de-camp to gather up the 
guipos; and the treaty was thus concluded. 

An hour later the Brazilians, to whom the hostages had been given up, left the 
Rincon del Bosquecillo in company with a detachment of chosen warriors, and again 
took the road to the plantations, after having decided, with Gueyma, Tarou Niom, 
and the principal captains, upon supplementary measures foi the success of the 
projected invasion, and upon the means to be employed for the Brazilians and the 
Indians, under all circumstances, to communicate with each other. 


CHAPTER XT!?, 


THE CONGONAR. 

About a month had passed since the conclusion of the treaty between the Brazilians’, 
the Guaycurus, and their allies of the Rincon del Bosquecillo. At the foot of a steep 
mountain, surrounded by ridges and ravines, the rugged soil of which was covered 
with a thick forest of oaks, a numerous troop of horsemen was camped at the 
entrance of a canon — the dry bed of a torrent — the soil of which was covered with 
stones rounded and smoothed by the action of the water, which was at this moment 
exhausted. 

This troop, composed of some 250 or 300 men at the most, w'ore the characteristic 
costume of Guaycurus Indians. 

It was evening. The camp, firmly established and watched over by active sen- 
tinels, was, by its position, completely sheltered from attack. 

Tlie warriors were sleeping, lying before the fires, enveloped in their ponchos, 
their arms placed within reach of their hands, so as to be ready to make use of 
them at the least alarm. 

A little behind the camp, on the flank of the mountain, the horses were feeding 
on the. grass, and the young shoots of trees, carefully tended by six Indians, well 
armed. 

Two men, seated before a half-extinguished fire, having each a carbine placed 
near him on the grass, were talking and smoking, and every now and then sipping 
their mate. 

These two men were Gueyma and the Congonar ; the troop was placed under 
the r immediate orders. It was composed of the youngest, the most vigorous, and 
most renowned warriors of the tribe. 

From the time when, at the signal given by the Brazilian government, this troop 
had crossed the Spanish frontier, and had — like a flight of birds of prey — fallen on 
the enemy’s territory, terror had accompanied it; murder, incendiarism, and pillage 
had preceded it; behind it, it had left only ruins and corpses; in its presence fear 
chilled tiie courage of the inhabitants, and made them abandon as rapidly as 
possible their poor ranchos, to fly from the cruelty of these barbarous Guavcurcs, 
who spared neither women, children, nor old men, and who a; peared to have taken 
an oath to change into a desert the rich and fertile fields, in the midst of winch they 
traced a furrow of blood. 

They had thus traversed, like a devastating hurricane, the greater part of the 
province, a;,d had reached the Rio Qu nto, not tar from wnich they were camped, on 
the environs of a little town named Aquadita, a miserable place, the inhabitants of 
which had taken flight, abandoning ail they possessed at tire news of tne approach 
of the Guaycurus. 

Such was the horror which they possessed of these latter, that they dici. not 
consider themselves safe, even though peaceably disposed. 

The treaty concluded between the Brazilians and the Indians could not have been 
more advantageous to the former, tor tms reason : from the discovery of America, 
the Portuguese and the Spaniards continually disputed possession of the New World. 
Placed side by side in Brazil and Buenos Ayres, they could not long remain without 
making war. 

When the family of Braganza was obliged to abandon Portugal, to take refuge iff 
Rio Janeiro, Biazil became the real centie of Portuguese power, and the king con- 


The Cortgonar. 


% 


templated aggrandising' his empire, and of adding to it what, in some respects, n<* 
reasonably considered his na.ural frontiers — the Banda Orientale, and the course of 
the Rio de la Plata. 

The war lasted a long time, with alternations of success and disaster on both 
sides. England offered her mediation, and peace was on the point of being con- 
cluded ; but, at the epoch we are dealing with, the Brazilian Portuguese, profiting by 
the troubles which desolated the Rio de la Plata, and especially the Banda Orientale, 
abruptly broke the negotiations, called out an aimy of 10,000 men, under the orders 
of General Lecor. and invaded the province — the lasting object of their covetousness — 
skilfully making their movements co-operate with those of the Indian bravos, vhh 
whom they were leagued, and who themselves, rushing from their deseits with the 
fury of wild beasts, had invaded the Spanish territory from the rear, and had thus 
placed them between two fires. 

The picture presented at this time by the insurgent provinces was one cf the 
saddest that could be offered as a warning to the wisdom of governors, and the good 
sense of peoples. 

Ti e ancient vice-royalty of Buenos Ayres, previously so rich and flourishing, bad 
become a vast desert, its towns heaps of cinders; all its territory was but a vast 
battle-field, where were incessantly contending armies fighing each for its own 
interests, drowning patriotism in streams of blood, and replacing it by private 
ambition. 

'1 he Brazilian Portuguese, rendered stronger by the weakness of their enemies, 
had, almost without striking a blow, occupied the principal strategic points of the 
Banda Orientale. The gaining of two battles would render them masters of the 
remainder, and make this province fall into tr.eir hands. 

Such was the situation of the corn try at the moment when we resume our narra- 
tive which we have been obliged to interrupt, to put the reader in possession of these 
facts, indispensable to the undeistanding of those which follow. 

The night was dark ; the moon, veiled with clouds, shed at intervals a pale and 
trembling light, wuich impressed a stamp of sadness on the features of the landscape ; 
the wind sighed gloomily through the branches of the trees. Trie two chiefs, seated 
side by side, were talking in a low voice, as if they feared that their companions, 
stretched near them, might hear their conversation. At the moment we place tnera 
on the scene. Gueyma was speaking with much animation, vvniie his companion 
listened with an ironical smile. 

“ I repeat it, Congonar,” said the young man; “ we must return, and that not 
later than to-morrow. Do you know that we are now more than 150 leagues from 
Rio Vermejo ? ” 

“ 1 know it,” coldly answered the old chief. 

“ Look vou, my friend,” pursued the young man, “you will finish by putting me 
in a rage.” 

“ What would you like me to answer you ? ” 

“ How should I know ? Give me an opinion — advice; tell me something, in fact. 
We have set out on an adventure, like a herd of wild bulls, destroying and scattering 
everything on our passage, and now, here we are after a devious and aim.esa 
journey, brought to a stand at the foot of the mountains, in a country that we do nut 
know.” 

“That is true,” observed the Congonar. 

“Observe,” pursued Gueyma, with increasing animation, “that T do not addiesa 
to you any reproach, my tiiend ; but several times 1 nave wished to retreat," 

“ It is true, I admit it.” 

“ Ab 1 you admit it— very welL” 


64 


The Insurgent Chief. 


“ I have always a design, Gueyma.” 

“ I know it, indeed, for your wisdom is great ; but I should like to know tuts 
design.” 

“ It is not yet time, my friend.” 

“ That is always what you sav, but what is to be done? 

“ Still to push on in advance.” 

“ But to go where ? to do what ? ” 

“When the moment arrives I will instruct you.” 

“ Come, I give up any further discussion with you, Congonar. It is playing with 
myself to try and oppose you when you have made up your mind. Only, as I shall 
afterwards have to render an account of my conduct to the great chiefs, and as I do 
not wish to take upon myself the responsibility of the events which, no doubt, will 
soon transpire, I have a request to make.” 

“ What is it, my friend ? ” 

“ It is, at break of day, to convene the council, to explain frankly to the warriors 
the precarious situation in which we are placed.” 

“ Y ou wish it, Gueyma ? ” 

“ No, my friend, I desire it.” 

“You shall be satisfied, my friend.” 

“ Thank you. I see in this your habitual honour.” 

“ In this only ? ” said the old man, with a sad smile. 

“ Congonar,” resumed the young man, after a pause, “ the night advances ; we 
have nothing more to say; with your permission I will go to sleep — I am horribiy 
fatigued ; I want to get strength for to-morrow.” 

“ Sleep, Gueyma, and may the Great Spirit give you calm repose.” 

“ Thank you, my friend ; but you— are you not going to sleep also ? ” 

“No, I must watch ; moreover, I intend to profit by the darkness to try a recon- 
naissance about the camp.” 

“ Would you like me to accompany you, my friend ? ” 

“ It would be useless ; sleep. I shall be equal to the task I have set myself.” 

“ Do as you like, then, my friend.” 

Gueyma then carefully wrapped himself in his poncho, and some minutes after- 
wards was sunk in profound sleep. 

The Congonar had not changed his position, crouched before the fire. 

He remained thus for a considerable time — so motionless, that, from a distance, 
he rather resembled an idol than a man of flesh and blood. 

At last, after about an hour, he gently raised his head, and looked anxiously 
around him. 

A death-like silence pervaded the camp. The Congonar rose, tightened his girdle, 
seized his carbine, and proceeded slowly towards the spot where the horses were 
feeding. 

Having reached this spot, he gave a light whistle. Almost immediately a horse 
catne out of the group, and rubbed his head against the shoulder of the chief. 

The latter, after having patted him with his hand, put a bridle on him, and. with- 
out making use of the stirrup, bounded into the saddle, after having tightened the 
girth, relaxed for the horse to feed more easily. 

The sentinels, although they noticed the movements of the chief, did not 
and he left the camp witnout any one appearing to notice it. 

'lire warriors had for a long time been accustomed to these nocturnal absences of 
their chief, who, from the commencement of the expedition, set out thus nearly every 
night from the camp, without doubt to go on a discovery, and always remained 
several hours away. 


The Congonar. 


65 


The Congonar had set out from the camp slowly; lie preserved the same pace 
while he thought he was in view of the sentinels, but as soon as a ridge of ground 
had concealed his movements, he loosed the bridle, gave a slight click with his 
tongue, and the horse immediately set off at full speed. 

He galloped thus for about an hour and a half, and reached the bank of rather a 
broad river, whose waters, like a silver ribbon, contrasted strongly with the dark 
masses of the landscape. 

Having leached the banks of the river, the chief threw the bridle on the neck of 
nis horse. 

The intelligent animal sniffed at the river for some time, and then boldly entered 
and forded it. 

Immediately he was on the other bank, the horse set out again at a gallop. 

The spot where the chief went to was an immense and desolate plain, where there 
were but ragged shrubs, and in which, here and there, were rather high hillocks of 
blackish sand. 

It was at the foot Oi one of these hillocks that the chief stopped. He immediately 
alighted, rubbed down his horse carefully, covered him with his poncho, to prevent 
his chilling after the violent exercise to which he had been for so long a time subject, 
and, throwing the bridle on his neck, he left him free to browse. 

This accomplished, the chief put his hands to his mouth, and three distinct times, 
at equal intervals, he imitated the cry of the screech-owl of the pampas. 

Two or three minutes passed. The same cry was repeated three times at a con- 
siderable distance, and then the precipitate gallop of a horse was heard. 

The chief hid himself as well as he coul 1 behind the hillock, loaded his carbine, 
and waited. 

Soon he perceived the outline of a horseman emerging from the darkness. 

Having come near, the horseman stopped short, and the cry of the screech-owl 
again broke upon the silence of the night. 

The Congonar repeated his signal ; the horseman, as if he had only waited for 
this answer, immediately resumed his gallop, and then a second time he stopped, 
and the sound of a gun being loaded was heard. 

44 Who goes there?” cried a firm voice in Spanish. 

44 A friend of the desert,” answered the chief. 

4 ‘ What hour is it ? ” pursued the unknown. 

44 The hour of vengeance,” again said the chief. 

These pass-words exchanged, the two men put up their guns, and advanced to- 
wards each other with the utmost confidence. 

They recognised each other. 

The stranger alighted, and cordially grasped the hand which the chief held out to 
him. 

The unknown was a white. He wore the elegant costume of the gauchos of the 
pampas. 

“ I have waited a long time for you, chief,” said the stranger. “ Has anything 
happened ? ” 

“ Nothing,” replied the other ; 44 only the camp is far off; I have been obliged, 
before setting out, to wait till my companion was decidedly asleep.” 

44 He still knows nothing ? ” 

44 Is it not agreed between us ? ” 

44 Tust so; but as you have the greatest confidence in him, I thought that perhaps 
you might tell him.” 

“I have not wished to do anything without informing you. 1 have not like 1 to 
risk taking him into confidence on so serious a matter without having in hand ceiv 
tain proofs of the treason of the general” 

o 


66 


The Insurgent Chief. 


u These proofs I bring in my saddle-bags: I will give them to you. It is irnpor* 
tant for the success of our project that Gueyma be informed of it. Otherwise, when 
the moment has come to strike the grand blow, he would doubtless counteract our 
plans ” 

“ You are right ; I will tell him all immediately on my arrival at the camp.” 

44 Verv well, I count upon you.” 

44 Make yourself easy on that head ; now what must we do ? ” 

“ Continue to go on in the same direction.” 

“ I thought so. My companion begins to be uneasy at seeing me thus pushing 
forward in an unknown country.’’ 

“ When you have informed him he will make no more difficulties.” 

“ That is true ; but is this journey to last much longer? ” 

“ Watch with care your approaches, for to-moirow we shall probably meet.” 

“ Epoi ! you will not fail us at the critical moment ? ” 

44 Trust to me; I have given you my word. Our movements will be so plannee* 
that both will act at once — the one in advance, the other in arrear ; they will be 
taken as by the throw of a net. If we give them time to recognise us they will 
escape, so skilful are they. I cannot, therefore, too much urge you to act with the 
gieatest circumspection.” 

“ In your turn, trust in me, Don Zeno. If I have your word, you have mine.” 

“ I tru t you, then.” 

“You remember our agreement ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ And you will act accordingly ? ” 

“ Blindly, although — permit me to tell you — I do not understand your demand.” 

44 One day you will understand me, and then, take my word for it, Don Zeno, you 
will thank me.” 

“ Be it so ; as you like, you are an undecipherable man ; I give up your explain- 
ing yourself.” 

” And you are right,” answered the chief, laughing ; 44 for you would lose your 
time and your pains; only, remember, Don Zeno, that, white or red, you have noc a 
better friend than I am.” 

‘ Of that I am convinced; however, I avow that if some day you tell me your 
history, I expect to hear marvellous things.” 

4 ‘ And tenible things also, Don Zeno. This history, if you will have a little 
patience, I promise to tell you; it will interest you more than you think.” 

“ It is possible ; but, meanwhile, let us think of the affair we have in hand.” 

44 Leave that to me ; I must quit you.” 

“ Already ! we have scarcely said a few words.” 

44 1 have a long journey to make, you know.” 

44 '1 rue ; I will not detain you, then.” 

44 And the proofs that you are to give me ? ” 

44 You shall have them in a moment.” 

44 Of what do they consist ? ” 

44 In gu pos, and especially in letters. You know how to read, do you not? n 

44 Enough to decipher these papers.” 

44 Here is the affair,” added he, drawing forth a rather voluminous packet and 
handing it to the Indian. 

*• Thank you,” answered the latter ; 44 thank you, and I shall soon see you again, 
eli? : ’ 

“ Most probably we shall see one another again, even to-day.” 

40 So much the better ; I should be delighted if it were all over.” 

w And I also.” 


The Covg-mar. 


67 


The two men once more shook hands. The gaucho remounted his horse, and 
set off; he soon disappeared in the darkness. 

The Congonar whistled to his horse, which came running- at his call, and he set 
off in the direction of the camp. His horse, refreshed by the rest he had had during 
the con'erence of the two men. appeared to annihilate space. 

The Indian’s ordinarily sombre countenance had a joyous expression which was 
not natural to it. He pressed to his chest the packet which the gaucho had given 
him. as if he feared it would escape him; and as he galloped allowed exclama r iop» 
ol pleasure to escape him, which would have much astonished the warriors of his 
tribe. 

He made such haste that he re-entered the camp about two hours before day- 
break. 

After having sent his horse among the others, he laid himself down before a fire, 
taking care to wrap his precious packet in his poncho, then he closed his eyes, mur- 
muring in a low voice, and between his teeth — 

“ I have well earned two or three hours of repose ; and I think I shall sleep well, 
for now I am co; tent.” 

Indeed, five minutes later he slept as if he would never wake again. 

However, at sunrise the Congonar was one of the first awake, and the first up. 

Gueyma, crouched near him, waited his awaking. 

“ Already up ? ” said the old chief to him. 

“ Is there anything extraordinary in that? ” 

“ True. Why do they not raise the camp ? ” 

“ I did not wish to give the order for it before speaking with you.” 

“ Ah ! very well ; speak, Gueyma ; I am listening.’’ 

“ Have you forgotten what we said yesterday evening ? ” 

“ We said many things, my friend ; it is possible that amongst the number I have 
forgotten some.” 

“ We agreed to assemble the council this morning.” 

“ True ; have you done it ? ” 

“ No. not yet ; you were asleep, my friend ; I did not wish to take upon myself 
the order ? ” 

“You are good and generous, Gueyma,” answered the old man. “Do me a 
favour.” 

“ What, my friend ? ” 

“ Do not convoke the council yet.” 

The young chief fixed on him an inquiring look. 

“ Yes,” continued the Congonar, “ what I say astonishes you, I can well under- 
stand; but we must have a serious conversation before this convocation.” 

“ A conversation ?” 

“ Yes ; I have to communicate to you matters of the highest importance. Be 
patient ; grant me till the halt for the morning meal — that is not too much to exact, 
I think ? ” 

“ You are my friend and my father, Congonar.” 

Thank you, Gueyma, thank you ; now give the order for the raising of the 
lamp.” 

“ That is what I will do immediately.” 

“ Afi 1 recommend the greatest vigilance to the warriors ; the enemy is near/’ 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE TWO CHIEFS. 

By decrees, as the Guaycurus warriors advanced towards the mountains, the land- 
scape assumed a more severe and more picturesque aspect. 

The road mounted by an almost imperceptible slope, by risings of earth which 
serve, so to speak, as gigantic steps to the first chain of the Cordilleras. 

The forests became more dense, the trees were larger and more closely packed. 
Hidden streams might have been heard murmuring — torrents which precipitate 
themselves from the height of the mountains, and, uniting, form rivers, which at 
some leagues in the plain acquire great importance. 

Large flights of vultures wheeled slowly, high in the air, uttering harsh and dis- 
cordant cries. 

Gueyma had not neglected any precautions ; scouts had been dispatched in 
advance in order to search the woods, and to discover, if possible, the tracks that 
they suspected would not fail them in these regions. 

Other Indians had quitted their horses, and, right and left, on the flanks of the 
troop, searched the forest. 

The Guaycurus advanced tn a long and close column — the eye on the watch and 
the hand on their arms, ready to make use of them at the first signal. 

The two chiefs marched in front, about twenty paces from their companions. 

"When they were in the middle of a thick forest, the immense masses of verdure not 
only deprived them of a view of the sky, but also intercepted the burning rays of the 
sun ; and when the horsemen, whose horses were passing through a long and thick 
grass, filed through the trees silently as a legion of phantoms, the Congonar placed 
his hand on the arm of his companion. * 

“ Let us speak Spanish,” said he; “I do not wish any longer to delay giving you 
that information I have promised vou. If we have to be attacked, it will only be in 
the neighbourhood of such an unlucky place as that in which we now find ourselves. 
I am much deceived if we shall not soon hear resounding under these arches of 
foliage the war-cry of our enemies. It is time, then, that I explained myself clearly 
to you, for perhaps it will be too late when we arrive at the encampment. Listen to 
me, then, attentively, and whatever you hear me say, my dear Gueyma, concentrate 
in yourself your emotions, and do not exhibit in your features either anger, joy, or 
astonishment.” 

“ Speak, Congonar.” 

The Congonar seemed lost in thought. 

Gueyma remained patiently waiting for him to speak. 

At length, looking fixedly at the younger man — 

“The time has not yet come,” pursued the old man, “ to reveal the whole truth. 
Let it suffice, at present, to know that, brought up among the whites, whose faith 
and customs I had adopted, it is not for you, Gueyma — for you whose birth I re- 
member, and whom I love as a son — that I have consented to abandon the numberless 
enjoyments of civilised life. I iiad taken an oath of vengeance and devotion. This 
oath I have religiously kept. The vengeance, a long time prepared by me in secret, 
will be so much the more terrible as it will have been slow to strike the guilty. In 
the great act that I meditate, Gueyma, you will aid me, for they are your interests 
alone that I have constantly defended.” 


The Two Chiefs. 


69 


“ What y 'u tell me,” answered the young 1 chief, with emotion, “ my heart has 
had a presentiment of. For a long time I have known and appreciated, as I ought, 
the faithful and almost boundless friendship which you have manifested for me. 
You will, therefore, render me this justice, Congonar, *hat I have always conformed 
to your advice.” 

“ It is true, my boy, fou have acted thus; but when we talk between ourselves, call 
me Dingo. This is the name they formerly gave me when I was among the 
Whites.’’ 

“ Well, my friend, as you wish it, I will call you so between ourselves, till you 
permit me, or till circumstances permit me, to resume boldly in the face of all a 
name which I am sure you have honoured all the time you have borne it.” 

“ Y es,” answered the old man, with complaisance, “ there was a time when the 
name of Diogo had a certain celebrity ; but who remembers it now ? ” 

“ Resume, I beg, what you commenced to tell me, and do not dwell any more on 
painful memories.’* 

“ Y ou are right, Gueyma; let me forget them for a time. What I have said has 
no othefcdesign than that of proving to you that, if often I have apparently arrogated 
to myserf the right of counselling you, or of wishing you to modify your plans, this 
right was acquired by long services and a devotion under all circumstances to 
yourself.” 

“ I have never had, my friend, the thought of discussing your acts or counteracting 
your projects.” 

“ I am pleased to render you this justice, my friend; but if I insist so much on 
this subject, it is that the circumstances in which we are now placed demand that 
you have entire confidence in me. The Brazilians, believing they no longer want us, 
now that they have seized upon the greater part of the towns of the Banda Orientale, 
would not be sorry to be free of us, and to allow us to be crushed by superior forces. 
Forgetting the services that, from the commencement of the war, we have rendered 
them, they not only abandon us in a cowardly way, but wish to deliver us to the 
enemy, in the hope that, succumbing, notwithstanding our courage, under the weight 
of superior force, we shall be all massacred.” 

“ I feared this treason/* answered Gueyma. “ You remember that I was opposed 
to the conclusion of the treaty.” 

“Yes, I even remember that it was I who induced you to conclude it. Well, my 
friend, 1 foresaw this treason ; I will say now — I hoped it.” 

The young chief turned sharply to his companion, looking at him with the most 
lively surprise. 

“ I begged you,” Resumed the old man, “ to wait. Collect yourself, then, my 
friend, in <'rder to avoid awakening the suspicions of our warriors.” 

“ I am listening to you ; but what you say to me is so extraordinary ” 

“That you do not understand me — is that it? But, patience; you will soon have 
the explanation of this mystery, especially as I shall be able to give you this ex 
plan ation without perilling the success of the projects that I meditate.” 

“ All this appears to me strange,” said Gueyma. 

The Congonar smiled silently, and after having cast an inquiring look around 
him, he unaffectedly approached his companion, and, leaning towards his ear— 

“ Do you like the whites ? ” he asked. 

“ No,” decisively answered the chief ; u but I do not entertain any hatred towards 
them.” 

“ Just so ; however, my friend, if it is allowable for me to boast before you of my 
exp ience, let me tell you that every sentiment is unjust when it is exclusive; that 

the e you have led, the examples you have had under your eyes, indispose you 


The Insurgent Chief. 


7 ° 


towards the company of the whites. I understand this; but amongst the whites 
there are some good. I even intend soon to make you acquainted with one of them.” 

“ Me ! ” cried the young man. 

“ Y ou, ceitainly ; and why not, if it conduce to the success of our plans ? ” 

“ My friend, you speak in a way that is entirely incomprehensible to me. Be plain 
with me, and do not let me thus fatigue myself to no purpose.” 

“ Well, in a few words, here is what has happened : The Brazilian general with 
whom we treated had but one motive — to remove us from our hunting-territories, and 
to remove us in such a way as we should never return.” 

“ But it appears to me that if such were his design, he has attained it to a certain 
extent.” 

“ Perhaps he has realised the half of his plan, but the other half will not succeed 
bo easily. He is your most implacable enemy.’’ 

“ Me l But he does not know me, my fiiend.” 

“You think so, dear Gueyma; but I am in a better position than you to judge the 
matter.” . 

“ It is sufficient; I am happy to know what you tell me.” 

“ Why so ? ” 

“Because the first time that chance brings me into his presence T shall make no 
scruple to cleave his head open.” 

“ Be careful not to do that, mv friend ! ” cried the Congonar, with a start of fear. 
“ If you should find yourself face to face with him, it will be necessary for you to 
feign the most complete indifference to him. Remember this advice, and make use of 
it. Vengeance has been prepared for him long ago. What 1 tell you appears to 
you, I know, incomprehensible ; but I do r.ot wish to insist any more on this point ; 
we shall not be long before we reach the spot assigned for the encampment, and I 
have to speak to you of another person towards whom I shall be happy to see you 
profess the most frank and amicable sentiments.” 

“ And who is this person, if you please, my friend? Does he belong to our race, 
or is he a white ? ” 

“I speak of a white, my dear Gueyma, and, moreover, of a white who, up to the 
present time, you have thought one of our deadliest enemies ; in a word, Zeno 
Cabral.” 

“ I admire the prudence which you manifested at the commencement of this 
conversation, in recommending me not to allow myself to express any mark of 
surprise.” 

“ Yes, you sneer,” answered the Congonar, “and apparently you are right; how- 
ever, events will show you are wrong.” 

“ Upon my word, I avow to you, my friend, that I feel myself attracted towards 
him by a feeiing that I cannot analyse, and which — in spite of the wish I have o.ten 
hrrl to do so — has always prevented me from hating him.” 

“ Do you speak truth ? ” 

“ 1 assure you it is so; I feel myself constrained to love him.” 

u Love him then, my friend ; follow the impulse of your heart; it will not deceive 
yen. This man is, indeed, really worth your friendship.” 

“ How so ? ” 

“ I will shortly present you to each other.” 

“You will make me acquainted with Zeno Cabral?” 

5< Yes/' 

“ Surely he will not dare to come into our camp ! ” 

u In case of need, he would not hesitate to do so ; but it is not in this way that we 
must act ; we, on the o'^rarv, will go to find him.” 


7 he Two Chiejs. 


71 


u > >• 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Oh ! oh ! have you well reflected, my friend, on the consequences of such a pro- 
ceeding ? If this man should spread a net for us ? ’’ 

“ We have nothing of that sort .to fear from him.” 

Gueyma lowered his head with a pensive air. For a long time the two chiefs con- 
tinued rhus to ride side by side without exchanging a word, absorbed each by his own 
thoughts. At last the young man looked up and said : 

“ We shall soon be at the spot where we have decided to camp. Have you nothing 
more to say ? ” 

“ Nothing at present, my friend. We shall soon resume this conversation ; now 
we must instal our warriors in a secure position, tor, perhaps, we shall remain in this 
encampment longer than you suppose. ” 

“ What ! shall we not set out again in a few hours ? ” 

“ It is scarcely probable, but for that matter you will decide for yourself when the 
time has come.” 

And, as if he wished to prevent the young chief asking him a question that he 
probably would not have cared to answer, the Congonar checked his bridle, and 
allowed his companion to pass him. 

Meanwhile the pathway bioadened more and more, the forest became less dense, 
and, after having turned a corner, the Indians carne out on to a kind of rather large 
esplanade, entirely denuded of trees, although covered with a tall and coarse grass. 
This esplanade formed what in Mexico they call a voladero, that is to say, that from 
this side the base of the mountain — which the Guaycurus had traversed almost 
without peiceiving it, by a gentle declivity, worn away by the streams, or by an 
inundation produced by one of those convulsions so frequent in this country — formed 
beneath the esplanade an enormous cavity, which gave it the appearance of a gigantic 
balcony, and rendered it on this side almost impossible to attack. 

On the opposite side, the flanks of the mountain were escarped in abrupt blocks of 
rock, on the edge of which the vicunias and the llamas alone would have been able 
to place their delicate feet without fear of falling. 

The only accessible points were those by which the esplanade was reached — a point 
most easy to defind by means of some trunks of trees thrown across it. 

Gueyma could not restrain a smile of satisfaction at the sight of this natural 
fortress. 

“ What a misfortune that we must in a few hours abandon so advantageous a 
position ! ’’ murmured fie. 

The Congonar smiled without answering, and proceeded to organise the camp. 
Some warriors went to seek the wood necessary for the fires, others felled several 
trees, leaving all the branches on, and which thus formed an almos impiegnable 
entrenchment. 

The hoises were unsaddled and set at liberty, so that they could get at the 
green grass. 

The fires lighted, they prepared the morning meal, and the Guaycurus warriors 
soon found themselves installed on the esplanade in as firm a position as if they 
intended to make a long stay. 

When the sentinels were stationed, the meal was finished, and the warriors were 
stretched here and there to repose — according to the invariable custom of Indians, who 
do not thmk that, unless in exceptional circumstances, they should remain awake 
when tfiey can sleep — the Congonar approached Gueyma. 

4 ‘ You feel fatigued ?” he asked, with a significant gesture, 

w Not at all,” answered he; “ but why i ” 


The Insurgent Chief. 




“ Simply because I intend to go out a little on discovery, to assure myself that the 
country is clear; and that if you like to accompany me we will go together.” 

“ I should like nothing better,” answered Guevma, who felt that the excursion was 
but a pretext to deceive the warriors. 

“ If it is to be so,” pursued the Congonar, “let us set out without waiting any 
longer.” 

The young man immediately rose and took his gun. 

u We go on foot ? ” said he. 

4 ‘ Certainly, our horses would embarrass us ; they would only retard our progress.** 

u Let us go then.” 

The two chiefs immediately quitted the camp by the point opposite to that by which 
they had arrived, but not without having recommended an inferior chief to watch with 
the greatest vigilance over the common safety. 

They were not long in disappearing in the midst of the thick shrubbery and 
trees. 

They walked at a good pace, contenting themselves by at times casting an inquiring 
look around them. 

Gueyma silently followed, inwardly asking himself what was the design of this 
mysterious excursion. 

As to the old man, he advanced without any hesitation, proceeding through this 
labyrinth of verdure with a certainty which showed a perfect knowledge of the place, 
and previously determined plan, for the two chiefs had left the track, and without 
following any path, they walked straight on, surmounting the obstacles which from 
time to time came in their way. 

In about half an hour they reached the dry bed of a torrent, which formed a large 
hollow in the mountain, and clinging with hands and feet, with that skill which 
characterises the Indians, to the rugged stones, the tufts of grass, and the branches 
of shrubbery, they began to descend rapidly by a rather rude declivity, and which, to 
any other men. would have presented great difficulty, and even danger. 

About half-way down, the Congonar stepped on a fragment of rock, before a 
natural excavation. 

After looking in all directions, the old man made a sign to his companion to place 
himself near him. 

“ We must enter,” pointing to the cavern. 

“ Ah 1 ” answered the young man ; “ if that is the case, let us not stop here any 
longer ; let us enter.” 

“One moment,” pursued the Congonar; “ let us first assure ourselves that he has 
arrived.” 

“ Arrived 1 Who ? ” asked the young man. 

“ He whom we wish to see, probably,” said the old man. 

“ Ah 1 very well ; only it is you, not I, who wish to see the person of whom you 
speak.” 

“ Let us not play upon words, my friend ; it is as important to you as to me, 
believe me, that this interview takes place.” 

“ You knovv that 1 allow myself to be entirely guided by you. After this con- 
versation which is about to take place, I shall probably be in a better position to knew 
of what importance to me is this proceeding, which, I avow, I only enter upon with 
misgiving.” 

The Congonar opened his lips as though he was about to answer, but immediately 
changing his mind, he turned with an abrupt movement, and, after having again 
explored the locality, imitated twice the cry of the condor. 

Almost immediately a similar cry came from the cavern. 


The Royal Army. 


73 


The old man quickly approached the entrance, an ! slightly leaning forward, as he 
cocked his gun to be re idy for any emergency : 

“ We have walked a long time, we are fatigued,” said he, as if he addressed his 
companion ; “ let us rest here a few minutes ; this solitary place appears to me to be 
safe.” 

“ Y ou will be received there by good friends,’* immediately replied a voice from the 
interior of the cavern. 

The sound of steps was heard, and a man appeared. 

The new-comer, clothed in the picturesque costume of the Banda Orientale, was 
no other than Zeno Cabral. 

Gueyma remaiked, with a surprise which he did not attempt to conceal, that the 
chief of the Montoneros had no arms, at least, apparently. 

“ Welcome,’’ said he, bowing ; “ I have waited for you some time.” 

The Guaycurus captains bowed silently, and followed him, without hesitation, into 
the cavern. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE ROYAL ARMY, 

We will abandon for some time the Guaycurus chiefs, to transport ourselves twenty 
leagues off, in the very heart of the Cordilleras, where were certain personages which 
have much to do with this narrative, and where, two or three days before that we 
have reached, events had passed which we must relate. 

The civil war, in destroying the old hierarchy, established by the Castilians in 
their colonies, and in overturning ranks and castes, had brought to the surface of 
1 lispano-American society certain persons very interesting to study, and amongst 
whom the Pincheyras undoubtedly held the most prominent place. 

Let us state who were these Pincheyras, whose name has already several times 
been mentioned. 

Pincheyra began like the greater part of the partisans of this epoch — that is to 
say, that at first he was a bandit. Born at San Carlos, in the centre of that province 
of Manli whose inhabitants never bowed to the yoke of the Incas, and only sub- 
mitted to that of the Spaniards, Don Pablo Pincheyra was an Indian from head to 
foot; the blood of the Arancans flowed almost unmixed in his veins; so that, when 
he was outlawed, and constrained to seek a refuge among the Indians, the latter 
responded with alacrity to his first call, and came joyfully around him, to form the 
nucleus of that redoubtable squadron which afterwards was to be called the royal 
army. 

Pincheyra had three brothers. These men, who had gained but a scanty sub 
sistence in wielding by turns the lasso and the hatchet — that is to say, in working o- 
the farms and as woodcutters — seized the oppoitunity which their elder brother 
offered them, and attached themselves to him, in company with all the scapegraces - 
was possible to recruit. 

Thus, the Pincheyras, as they were called, were not long in becoming the terror of 
the country that they had been pleased to choose as the theatre of their exploits. 

When they had pillaged the great chacras, and put the hamlets to ransom, they 


The Insurgent Chief . 


took refuge in the desert, and here they braved with impunity the powerful rage of 
their enemies. 

Tn fact, in these far-off regions, Justice, too weak, cannot make herselr respected, 
and her agents, notwithstanding their good will, were obliged to remain spectators of 
the depredations daily committed by the bandits. 

Don Pablo Pinchevra was far from being an ordinary man. Nature had been 
bountiful to him. To the’ courage of a lion he added a rare sagacity, a keenness of 
perception which was uncommon, united to manners full of nobility and affability. 

Thus, events aiding, the bold chief of the bandits, far from being disquieted by his 
incessant acts of brigandage, knew how to make himself acceptable, not only as a 
partisan, but also to be sought after and solicited by those whose interest had so 
long been to crush him, but who now found themselves obliged to claim his aid. 

Don Pablo did not allow himself to be dazzled by this new caprice »£ fortune ; be 
found himself at once equal to the part which chance called on him to play, and he 
boldly declared for Spain against the revolution. 

His troop, considerably augmented by the deserters and volunteers, who came to 
range themselves under his banner, was by degrees disciplined, thanks to some 
European officers which Don Pablo had succeeded in obtaining, and the old squadron 
of bandits was metamorphosed almost immediately into a regular troov — nearly an 
army — since it numbered in infantry and cavalry more than 1,500 combatants, a 
considerable number at that time in these sparsely-populated countries. 

When he considered that the royal army, as he emphatically called it, was in a 
position to take the field, Don Pablo Pincheyra boldly took the offensive, and com- 
menced hostilities against the insurgents, falling upon them suddenly, and defeating 
them in several encounters. 

The Pincheyras knew the most secret hiding-places in the Cordilleras. Their 
expeditions over, they withdrew into these retreats, so much the more inaccessible, 
as they were defended not only by desolate solitude, but by the terror which these 
redoubtable partisans inspired. They cared for nothing, and spared neither children, 
women, nor old men, dragging them after them, attached by the wrists to the tails 
of their horses. 

Another partisan chief also fought for the defence of the losing cause of Spain. 
He was named Zinoxain. 

Thus, at the time when South America, from Mexico to the frontiers of Patagonia, 
rose at once against the odious yoke of Spain, and boldly proclaimed its inde- 
pendence, two isolated men, without any other prestige than their indomitable energy, 
sustained only by Indian bravos, and adventurers of all nations, heroically struggled 
against the current which was carrying them away. 

Notwithstanding the misdeeds of these men — the Pincheyras especially — there was 
something really grand in this determination not to abandon the fortune of their old 
masters. Accordingly, even now, after so many years, their names in these coun- 
tries are surrounded with a kind of halo of glory, and they have become to the mass 
of the people legendary beings, whose incredible exploits are related with respectful 
fear. 

At about twenty leagues from the spot where the Guaycurus had stopped till the 
hottest part of the day had passed — in the centre of a vast valley, crowned on all 
sides by the snowy and inaccessible peaks of the Cordilleras — Don Pablo Pincheyra 
had established his camp. 

This camp, placed near the source of two rivers, was not provisional, but 
permanent; so it rather resembled a town than a bivouac of soldiers. The huts — 
made in the Indian fashion, in the form of toldos, with stakes crossed at the top, 
and coveied with leather from the hides of cows and mares — affected a kind of 


The Royal Army. 


75 


symmetry in their position, forming' streets, squares, and crossways, having 
corrals, filled with oxen and horses. Some of them had little gardens, where were 
grown, as well as it could be done, considering the region of the climate, a few 
kitchen herbs. 

In the centre of the camp were the toldcw of the officers, and of the four brothers 
Pincheyra — toldos, better built, better furnished, and much cleaner than those of the 
soldiers. 

Entrance could only be had into the valley where the camp was established by 
two narrow canones, situated one at the east, and the other at the south-west of the 
camp; but these two canones were so fortified by means of heaps of wood massed 
together, apparently pell-mell, but perfectly arranged nevertheless, that any attempt 
to force the double entry of these canones would have been vain. The sentinels 
planted there, however — their eyes fixed on the windings of the defiles — watched 
attentively over the common safety, while their companions, withdrawn under their 
toldos, lounged at their occupations with an easy carelessness which showed they 
were certain they had no serious danger to fear. 

The toldo of Don Pablo Pincheyra was easy to recognise at the first glance. Two 
sentinels paced before it, and several horses, saddled and ready to be mounted, were 
attached to pickets at some paces from the door, over which, from a long lance fixed 
in the ground, floated majestically the Spanish flag, in the inconstant play of the 
fresh morning breeze. Women — amon st whom several were young and pretty, 
though their features were for the most part tarnished by sorrow and excessive 
labour — traversed the streets of the camp, carrying water, wood, or provisions; 
some at the entrance of the toldos were occupied in the cares of the house; and 
soldiers mounted on strong horses, and armed with long lances, drove the animals 
out of the corrals, and led them to the pasturage outside the camp. In fact, all was 
bustle and animation in this strange repair of the bandits, who called themselves 
the royal army; and yet, through all this excitement and apparent disorder it was 
easy to recognise a regulating mind, and a powerful will which directed all, without 
ever meeting objection or even hesitation on the part of the subordinates. 

At the moment we enter the camp a man wearing the co tume of the gauchos 
of the pampas of Buenos Ayres, lifted tl>e fressada, a covering serving for a door to 
a toldo, built with some regularity, and after having cast around him a curious and 
anxious look, left the toldo, and entered the street. 

Like all the inhabitants of this singular centre of population, this man was armed 
to the teeth, with a sabre which hung at his left side, a pair of long pistols passed 
through his girdle, a knife with a straight blade fixed on his right polena, and the 
horn handle of which rested on this thigh, and a double-barrelled gun, which was 
thrown on his shoulder. 

Notwithstanding this formidable arsenal which he carried with him, the man of 
whom we speak appeared by no means at his ease. His hesitating walk, the furtive 
glances which he continually threw around him — all denoted a misgiving which he 
tried vainly to conceal, but whicn he could not succeed in conquering. 

“ Parbleu ! ” murmured he, in a low voice, “ I am an idiot, upon my honour! 
One man is as good as another ; and if it should come to blows, it must. If I am 
killed all will be over. I should like that the more, as this absurd existence begins 
to weigh heavily on me. What magnificent vagabonds 1 It would be impossible, l 
think, to meet their equals. Ah ! ” added he, with a sigh of regret, “ if it were only 
possible for me to sketch some of them ! But no, these fellows have no love for art ; 
k is impossible to trace them for a moment.” 

And Emile Gagnepain — for the reader has doubtless already recognised him— 
gave a second sigh, more profound than the first. 


76 


The Insurgent Chief. 


Meanwhile, he continued to advance hastily towards one of the outlets of the 
camp. His step had become by degrees more firm ; he proudly raised his head, 
and succeeded in affecting - the most complete carelessness. 

The painter had nearly traversed the entire length of the camp ; he had reached a 
rather large toldo, serving as a corps de garde lor the soldiers, watching at the in- 
trenchments ; and he hastened his pace with the design, no doubt, of escaping the 
inquisitive questions of some lazy partisan, when he felt hi mself tapped on the 
shoulder. Although this touch had nothing aggressive in it, and was, on the 
contrary, quite friendly, the young man started ; but, putting a good face on it, he 
immediately turned, and assuming the most amiable look that he could, he held out 
his hand to him who had thus come upon him unawares, and smilingly saluted 
him with the buonos dias Caballero, which is the ruie throughout Spanish territory. 

“ Buenos Dios ; Senor Frenchman,’’ gaily answered his visitor, and gently pressing 
his hand, “ you are well, I hope. It must be by chance like this for raa t@ have the 
pleasure of glancing at your friendly face.” 

“What do you wish, Don Pablo?” answered the painter. “The cares of your 
command absorb you so much that you become unapproachable, whatever desire I 
may have to visit you.” 

Don Pablo Pincheyra — for it was he — smiled craftily. 

“ Is that really the motive which makes you avoid me? ” said he. 

“ Avoid you ? ’’ 

“ Well, find another expression if you can ; I will say abstain from seeking me, if 
you prefer it.” 

“You make a mistake, Don Pablo,” answered the young man, with firmness; “ I 
do not avoid you any more than I have reason to abstain from seeking you, and the 
proof ” 

‘‘The proof? ” interrupted Don Pablo. 

“ At this very moment 1 was proceeding towards the intrenchments in the hope 
of meeting you.” 

“Ah I ah 1 ” said he; “ then, as it is so, I am happy, caballero, that chance has 
so well served you.” 

“ Chance has nothing to do in the affair.” 

“ It would have been better, however, to have come simply to my toldo.” 

“ That is not my opinion, since 1 meet you her;*.” 

“That is true,” said the partisan, laughing ; “ you have an answer for everything, 
my dear sir. Will you acquaint me with the reasons to which I owe the honour of 
this tardy visit ? ” 

“ Believe me, dear Don Pablo, this place is not well suited for a serious conversation.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Don Pablo ; “ is it then important business on which you have to 
speak ? ” 

“ It could not be more important.” 

“ If that is the case, I am compelled to beg you to defer this conference for some 
hours.” 

“ May I be permitted, without appearing impertinent, to ask you the motive of this 
delay ? ” 

“ Oh ! mon Dieu 1 I have no secrets from you. The fact is, that I expect every 
moment the arrival of certain persons with whom I must have a conversation of the 
highest importance.” 

“ Pardon, Seigneur Don Pablo, but these persons to whom you allude — I think I 
know them.” 

The black eye of Don Pablo Pincheyra darted a flashing look, which he immedi- 
ately controlled. 


The Royal Army. 


77 


“And you infer from that, my dear sir? ” 

“ I infer, Seigneur Don Pablo, that it would be best that you consented to hear 
me first.” 

The painter, whose mind was made up, and who felt anger working within him, 
had become severe and sharp. 

On his side, Don Pablo, under his feigned friendliness, concealed a resolution 
previously made. Between these two men who spoke thus, a strange scene wa9 
thus being enacted. 

It was the partisan who renewed the conversation. 

“ So, Senor Frenchman,” said he, “ you had left your toldo with the intention of 
paying me a visit.” 

“ Y es, seigneur.” 

“ To me specially.” 

“ Yes, to you.” 

“ Eh ! ” said he, with an expressive sneer, pointing to the young man’s girdle, 
which was furnished with arms; “you will admit that you take singular precau- 
tions when you come to see your friends.” 

“We are in a country, seigneur,” coldly answered the painter, “ where it is well to 
be always on one’s guard.” 

“ Even with one’s friends ? ” 

“ Especially with one’s friends,” said he, sharply. 

“ Weil,” resumed the partisan, “follow me secretly, that we may be able to talk 
without interruption.” 

“ I will do so.” 

“ You will remaik, senor, that I have more confidence in you than you deign to 
show towards me.” 

“ Because, seigneur ? ” 

“ Because I am without arms.” 

The young man shrugged his shoulders. 

“You act as you think fit,” said he, coldly; “perhaps you are wrong, perhaps 
you are right.” 

“ I do not fear being assassinated.” 

“ If that insult is addressed to me, it fails. If I am taking precautions, it does 
not follow that I am capable of assassinating you.” 

The partisan shook his head with an air of doubt. 

“ People furnish themselves with arms,” continued the young man, with a cutting 
accent. “ to defend themselves against the attacks of wild beasts.” 

“ W’ell, well, Senor Frenchman,” said Don Pablo, in a melancholy tone, “come 
without any more words ; I have but a few minutes to give you.” 

While exchanging these bitter complaints, the two men had proceeded side by side, 
and had left the camp. 

They continued thus to advance into the country till they had reached a rathei retired 
spot — a kind of elbow formed by a turn in the canon in which they were, and where they 
could be neither seen nor heard ; whilst they, on the other hand, could see a consider- 
able distance to right and left up and down the road which ltd to the camp, and on 
which no one could have appeared without being discovered. 

“ I think, Senor Frenchman,” said Don Pablo, “ that this place will suit you ; be so 
good, then, to speak.” 

“ So I will,” answered the Frenchman, placing on the ground the butt-end of his 
gun, and leaning his two hands on the end of the barrel. 

“Oh! we are quite alone; come,” pursued Don Pablo, with an ironical smile, 
ei you can speak without tear.” 


Thf Insurgent Chief, 


3 


“ I have no fear, but I have so many things to say that I do not re dly know ho* 
to commence.” 

“ As you like; only, make haste if you wish me to hear you to the end.” 

“ The Spanish officer whom you expect will not be here for an hour, at least ; wo 
have time, then.” 

“ How do you know that I expect a Spanish officer?” 

“ What does that matter, if it is so? ” 

“Senor Fienchman,” pursued he, take care how you penetrate my secrets before 
I should wish you to know them. For two months that we have lived together you 
have been, I suppose, in a position to know me.” 

“ You would do well to speak thus if these affairs concerned you alone; hut as, 
unhap; ily, I find myself concerned in them, they are as much mine as yours.” 

“ Come, explain yourself frankly and honourably, as a man, instead of prating 
like an old woman ? ” 

“ It is two months,” resumed the young man, “ that we have lived together, as 
you yourself have said. What have you done during these two months ? How 
have you kept the promise you made me ? ” 

“ Have I not saved the two ladies, as I promised, from the peril that threatened 
them ? ” 

“ Yes, but to make them fall into one still worse,” 

I do not understand you, senor.” 

“ You understand me verv well. Unhappily for you, you have not yet reached the 
point where you think you are. I have sworn to defend these poor ladies, and 1 will 
defend them.” 

“ You are mad, senor ; no one that I know has any intention to injure these ladies 
in any way. Since their arrival here at Casa-Frama, you cannot deny that they 
have been treated with the greatest attention and respect ” 

“They complain of being exposed to mispiaced and dishonouring attentions on 
your part; moreover, they say that, far from giving them that liberty that you had 
engaged to give them, you sequester them.” 

Don Pablo shrugged his shoulders with disdain. 

“The women are all alike,” said he, with irony; “ nothing will satisfy them. I 
am in a better position than these ladies are to judge what is fitting for them, 
Besides, if they will keep quiet, they will not have long to remain here, and if the 
sight of my companions shocks them, they will soon be delive ed from it.” 

“ It is not the sight of your companions which shocks them, but yours and your 
brothers — the ridiculous ho nage with which you fatigue them every hour of the diy.” 

Tne features of the partisan contracted, a terrific pallor covered his face, and his 
eyebrows were knitted. 

“ Take care, senor,” cried he in a sullen tone, “ take care ; you are in my power — 
do not forget that ; and I am the man whom his enemies have called the Beai of 
Casa-Fiama.” 

“ Wnat matters it to me the names they give you?” cried Emile, forgetting all 
bounds ; “one only will suit you — that of bandit.” 

“ Vive Dieu ! ” ciied he with violence, “ this insult deserves blood ! A coward only 
dares thus to outrage a man without arms.” 

“ Nonsense,” resumed the young man, with contempt ; “ without arms,” and, with 
a gesture of nobility, he threw a pistol at the feet of the partisan. “ Pardieu ! that is 
a good evasion ! If you are as brave as you pretend, here is a weapon — do me 
justice.” 

“ Rayo di Dios l ” cried the partisan, with rage, “ you shall have the pleasure ol 
it r* 


\ 


The Royal Army. "9 


And da*t : ng at the pistol, he cocked it, and discharged it almost close to the breast 
of the young man. 

The fate of the latter seemed doomed. Considering the little distance which sepa- 
rated him from his adversary, nothing apparently could save him. Happily the 
partisan, blinded by rage, had not calculated his fire; the ball, bully directed, instead 
of striking the Frenchman fall in the body, only made a slight graze. 

“Your life belongs to me,” coolly said the young man, cocking his pistol in his 
turn. 

“ Blow my brains out, carai ! ” cried Don Pablo ; “ fire, and let all be ove r ” 

“ No,” replied the young painter, without emotion ; “ it is well for you to see the 
difference which exists between a man of your sort and of mine.” 

“ Which means ?” murmured the partisan, whom rage stifled. 

“ That I pardon you ! ” said Emile. 

“ Pardon, you say — pardon ? ” cried he, with the roar of a tiger, “ to me ! ” 

“ To you, pardieu ! to whom else ? ” 

And coolly pushing away with his wounded arm the partisan, who had darted 
towards him, he raised his pistol, and discharged it over his head. Don Pablo 
remained an instant astounded, his eyes bloodshot, his features livid, his hands 
clenched, incapable of understanding the grandeur of this action, but conquered, in 
spite of himself, by the ascendancy that the young man had in an ins'ant acquired 
over his rude nature. 

“ Y our life, then,” quietly resumed the young man, “ belongs to me ; I have given 
it you oack. I only demand in return one thing.’’ 

“You demand some hing of me,’’ said he, with a mocking sneer. “ And if ! 
should not choose to accord you anything? ” 

“ Oh, then,” pursued he, with the greatest coolness, “as everything must have an 
end, and as it is always allowable to rid one’s self of a wild beast, I shall blow your 
brains out, as though you were a mad dog.” 

While speaking thus, Emile had taken his gun in his hand. 

The partisan found himself again at the metev of his adversary. 

The former cast at him a look of hatred, hut he could see by the countenance of 
his enemv that he would not hesitate to put his threat into execution. Then — thanks 
to that control which he had over himself — -he brought back calmness to his features, 
which had been distorted by rage, and, bowing with a gracious smil • — 

“ Be it so, 1 will do what you wish, senor. Your noble generosity has conquered 
my obstinacy. Speak.” 

“ Swear on vour salvation, by Our Lady of Solitude, to be faitaful to what you 
engage to do.” 

“ If I decline ? ” 

“ I will shoot you.” 

“ I swear it, on my salvation, by Our Lady of Solitude.” 

This virgin, much venerated by the gauchos, the (rappers, and other people of 
that kind, was the protectress of Don Pablo Pincheyra ; he was very devoted towards 
her, and no consideration whatever would have induced uim to violate an oath made 
sn her name. Emile was aware of this circumsta ice. 

Du ing three days from this time you will not take any steps against the two 
ladies confided to my care.” 

“ I swear it.” 

At this moment a distant gallop was heard, and a troop of horsemen appeared. 

“ Here are the persons whom you expect,” pursued Emiles “I should like to b« 
present at your interview with them.” 


8o 


The Insurgent Chief, 


** Very well, you shall be present at it. Do you wish anything else ? 

“ Nothing.” 

“ What, is that all ?** 

“ Yes.” 

** You do not stipulate anything for your personal safety ? 

** Nonsense,” answered the young man, with disdain. “ Y ou are jesting, selg* 
neur; what have I to fear from you ? You would not dare to attempt the life of him 
who, master of yours, has refused to take it.” 

The partisan stamped his foot with rage, but he did not answer. 

The horsemen rapidly approached ; a few minutes more, an! thev would have 
overtaken the two men, who looked at them as they came on, without making any 
movement towards them. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

AT CASA-FRAMA. 

The horsemen who advanced in the canon, in the direction of Casa-Frama, formed a 
troop of about thirty men. All were well-armed and well-mounted. Their costume 
had a military appearance, and, although riding at a hand-gallop, they preserved 
their order, and rather resembled soldiers than peaceable travellers. 

Two horsemen, mounted on magnificent black animals, richly harnessed, preceded 
by a few paces the body of the troop, and were talking together with some anima- 
tion. They had not yet perceived Don Pablo or the French painter, who, half hidden 
by the fragments of rock, observed them attentively. 

“ These are indeed the persons whom I expected,” said he ; “ come, let us go into 
the camp again.” 

“ Why not receive them here where we are? ” 

“ Better that they should not find us here ; I ought to receive these people with a 
certain decorum.” 

“ As you like ; but it will be rather difficult to re-enter the camp without being 
overtaken by them.” 

“ Do not be uneasy about that,” pursued Don Pablo, smiling ; “ still follow me.'* 

“ Let us go,” said the painter, repressing a movement of curiosity. 

Indeed, it seemed impossible, from the place where they were, for the two men to 
regain the camp without being perceived. 

However, against all probability, it was nothing of the kind. 

The partisan, followed by the painter, scaled some blocks of rock, massed without 
apparent order one upon the other, and found himself at the entrance of a natural 
cavern, of which so many exist in the mountains, and into which, having removed 
the biambles and brushwood which masked the mouth of it, he boldly entered. The 
tavern was large, spacious, and airv ; daylight penetrated it by imperceptible fis- 
sures, and produced a dim ight sufficient to walk without fear and to wander in tin* 
iabyrinth of gaderies, which opened right and left. 

Alter a rapid walk of few minutes, a dull and continuous sound, resembling a 
considerable fall of water, was heard, and became louder and louder. At last *tbe 
two men emerged from tiie cavern and found themselves on a narrow platform two 


At Casa- Fravia. 




ct three yards broad at the most, masked completely by a sheet of water which fell 
from a great height two or three yards before the platform, and broke with a great 
sound upon a chaos of rocks twenty yards lower down, where it divided into two 
branches, forming a little farther off two distinct rivers. 

“ We have arrived,” said the Pincheyra, turning towards his companion ; “do you 
recognise this place ? ” 

“ Perfectly. It is just at the foot of this cascade that the cainp is established! 
your tolrio is not more than a gunshot from it.” 

“ You are quite right. You see that I have not deceived you.” 

“ But how shall we descend into the valley ? It appears to me that the road is not 
practicable.” 

“ You are mistaken ; but you must give me your word as a caballeronot to reveal 
to any one the s cret that I confide to you. You understand the importance, in case 
of attack, of having a way by which I could escape with my companions without 
striking a blow ? ” 

“ I understand that perfectly, and I heartily take the o th you exact, especially as 
the confidence with which you have conducted me here is an unquestionable proof of 
the esteem you have for me.” 

“ Come,” said Don Pablo, “ we will descend.” 

He then made a turn on the right, and gained the western extremity of the plat- 
form. 

“ See,” said he. 

The painter looked. 

A ladder cut in the solid rock descended at a gentle declivity to a certain depth on 
the flanks of the mountain, and was lost in a thick cluster of forest trees. 

“ Chance, a long time ago,” pursued Don Pablo, “ revealed to me this passage at 
a time when I thought I should never have to make use of it. Now, it is very 
useful to me to enter and leave the camp without being seen ; but we shall not 
remain long here. Come.” 

Don Pablo, with a confidence which would have been decided folly with any other 
man than the painter, then passed first, and began to descend. 

Nothing would have been more easy than to make this partisan lose his equili- 
brium by gently pushing him as if by chance; but the thought did not even occur 
to the painter, notwithstanding the hatred which rankled in his heart against this 
man. He followed his enemy in this hazardous descent, as unconcerned as if he 
had made a promenade of pleasure with a friend. 

It did not take them more than a few minutes to reach the base of the mountain, 
and place their feet in the valley. 

“ Here we are,” said Don Pablo; “ we ought to separate here ; go to your affairs, 
and I will go to mine.” 

They weie, in fact, in the middle of the camp, at a few paces only from the toldo 
of the chief. 

“ Are you not going to receive the strangers who are coming?” asked Emile. 

“ Yes, I am going to receive them, for they will be here in ten minutes or so; and 
as I have told you, I wish to pay them a certain amount of respect, to which they 
have a right.” 

“ It was arranged between us, I thought, that I should assist at this interview ? ” 

“ Ceitainly, and I will keep my promise, you may depend ; but this interview will 
not take place till later — in two or three hours. I am only now about to fulfil to- 
wards the strangers the duties of hospitality. When they have rested, we will 
occupy ourselves with business.” 

“I have your word, I will therefore make no further objection.” 


82 


The Insurgent ChieJ. 


“ God keep you, Senor Don Emile,” answered the partisan. 

The two men bowed, and without further discussion they turne 1 their backs, and 
each went his way : Don Pablo proceeding 1 to the entrance of the camp, where, n^ 
doubt, his presence would soon be required ; and the painter returning to his toldc^ 
where he soon arrived. A man was sating on the threshold. 

This man was Tyro the guaranis. At a few paces from him, crouched on the 
soil, two ragged individuals, armed to the teeth, weie playing at monte. These 
persons were Mataseis and Sacatripas, the two bullies. Without disturbing them- 
selves, they saluted their master, and continued the eager game they had c .-mmenced 
at sunrise, and which probably would last, unless important affairs called them off, 
until the end of the day. 

At the sight of the Frenchman, Tyro quickly rose, raised the curtain of the toldo, 
and, after his master had entered, followed him. 

“ What news? ” asked Emiie. 

“ Nothing important apparently, ’’ answered the guaranis, “ bnt much in roality.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the young man, “ what has happened ? ” 

“ Nothing, I repeat, my friend ; however, I think you will do well to be on your 
guard.” 

“ Eh ! am I not always so ? ° 

“ But an increase of precaution could do no harm.” 

“ Then you have learned something ? ” 

“ I have learned nothing positive as yet; however, I have my suspicions; soon, I 
hope, I shall be able to intorm you.” 

“ Have you seen the ladies to-day ? ” 

“ Yes, my friend ; this morning I had the honour to pay them a visit ; they are 
sorrowful a-nd resigned as usual, and it is easy to see that their position becomes 
more painful to them every moment, and that their feigned resignation conceals a 
profound despondency.” 

“ Alas 1 ” murmured the young man, with sadness, “ I am unhappily unabie to 
be of service to them.” 

'* Perhaps, ray friend.” 

Emiie quickly brightened up. 

“ You know something, do you not, my good Tyro?” cried Emile, with anxiety. 

“ I must say nothing yet, my friend; be patient. You shall soon know all.’’ 

“ I have seen Don Pablo,” said the young man. 

“ Ah 1 ” said the guaranis, with curiosity. 

** I shall assist at the interview.” 

“Goodl” cried the Indian, joyfully rubbing his hands; “ so much the better. 
Don Pablo has not made any difficulties.” 

“ Hum ! he only consented when the pistol was at his breast.” 

“No matter; the principal thing is that you wiil be present.” 

“ You see that I have followed your counsel.” 

“ Soon, my friend, you will yourself acknowledge the importance of it.” 

“ God grant it ! I confess that since I have been in this frightful den of Casa- 
Frama, I feel that I am losing all energy.” 

“ Courage, my friend ; perhaps you are nearer escaping from it than you sup- 
pose.” 

Y ou never speak except by enigmas.” 

“Excuse me; it is at present impossible for me to explain myself.*’ 

‘‘Do as you like; I will not interfere in anything,* 1 

“ Till the moment for action has arrived.” 

“ But when this moment has come i ” 


At Casa-Frama . 


^3 


Tyro did not answer, occupied in preparing- for his master’s breakfast. Apparently 
absorbed by this grave occupation, he feigned not to hear. 

*' Now it is ready, my friend,’’ said he ; “ eat and drink, you must require refresh* 
ment. We never know what the future reserves for us, and it is well to be prepared 
for anything that may happen.” 

The painter looked at him a moment attentively. 

“ Come,” said he, sitting on a stool before the table, “ you are plotting some- 
thing ? ” 

The guaranis burst out laughing. 

‘‘Ah ! ” said he, after a pause, “you know, my friend, that the engagement of 
our two companions terminated yesterday.” 

“ What companions, and what engagements ? ” answered the young man, with 
his mouth full. 

“ Why, that of Mataseis and his worthy acolyte Sacatripas.” 

“ Good, but what have I to do with that ? These fellows have been paid in ad- 
vance.” 

“ Pardon, my friend; you owe them two months.” 

“ How is that ? ” 

“ Because 1 have renewed their engagement for two months this very morning at 
the same price.” 

” What a strange idea to hamper us with these wretches ! Would it not have 
been better to have sent them to get hanged somewhere else ? ” 

“As to being hanged, make your mind easy; tn it will happen to them sooner or 
later. Meanwhile, I have thought it preferable to keep them in our service. Do 
you remember, my friend, that when we fight against bandits we should have some 
of the same stamp in our interests ? ” 

“Do as you like, that’s your affair ; for you do everything according to your own 
notions. Keep them or don’t keep them — I wash my hands of it.” 

“ You are merry, my friend ? ” 

“ No, I am sad ; I have sometimes a temptation to put an end to it by blowing 
out the brains of t at cursed Pincheyra.” 

“ Be careful not to give way to these temptations ; not that I interest myself the 
least in the world in these Pincheyras, for I am reserving for Don Pablo and his 
brothers a dish of my own preparing, which they will find too highly spiced ; but 
the moment has not yet come. Let us be patient, and, for a commencement, be 
present at the interview to-day, my friend ; and open your ears, for if I do not much 
deceive myself, you will hear strange things.” 

“ Yes, yes, I suppose that an interview with the colonel must be fertile in inci- 
dents.” 

“ 1 wish to leave you the pleasure of the surprise, my friend. Are you going out ? ” 
he added. 

“ I intend to pay my respects to the ladies.’’ 

“ You will not have time; moreover, you could not talk freely; the two sisters of 
Don Pablo are with them.” 

“ These women appear to have received orders not to lose sight of these two 
unhappy ladies.” 

“ It is probable that they have received instructions of the kind.” 

The young man did not answer, but he knitted his eyebrows, and stamped with 
rage. 

Some minutes elapsed. 

“ Parbleu ! ” he cried at last, 'Mama perfect ass to fret thus about things which 
cannot afiect me, and which I cannot pievent l In fact, as life is a continual game 


S 4 


The Insurgent Chief, 


of see-saw. when I shall have reached the last step of bad fortune, I must re-mount, 
and then, according 1 to fate, my position will improve. Bah I I will trust to Provi- 
dence. He is more skilful th'an me, and will know well, when it pleases Him, how 
to enable me to escape from my embarrassment 1 However, it appears to me that 
it is time for a change; I am horribly wearied here. Upon my word, it was a 
splendid idea to come into this new world to seek tranquillity and patriarchal 
manners 1 Mercy on us 1 what patriots these Pinche) ras are 1 and how true and 
copied from nature are the narratives of travel ! ” 

And he laughed heartily. 

As what precedes had been said in French, and consequently the Indian had not 
understood a word, he looked at the young man with a wondenng air, which 
redoubled the hilarity of the latter. But a new personage at the moment appeared in 
the toldo, and by his presence calmed, as by enchantment, the gaiety of the French- 
man. 

This personage was no other than Don Santiago Pincheyra, one of the brothers of 
Don Pablo ; he to whom the young man had rendered so great a service on the 
occasion of his skirmish with the squadron of Zeno Cabral. 

Brutal and morose as was Don Santiago, he appeared to have preserved some 
gratitude to the painter for this service, and on several occasions he had manifested 
a slight interest in him. It was owing to his influence that the painter was treated 
with consideration in the camp of the partisans, and nearly free to act in his own 
way without being exposed to the gross annoyance of this undisciplined tioop of 
bandits. 

“ I see with pleasure that you do not breed melancholy among you, Seigneurs 
Frenchmen,” said he, holding out his hand. “ So much the bettei ! ” 

“You see that 1 adapt myself to circumstances,” answered Emile, pressing his 
hand. “Things that can’t be helped should be forgotten. What brings me the 
honour of your visit, dear seigneur ? ” 

“ First, the desire of seeing you, and then, a message from my brother, Don 
Pablo Pincheyra.” 

“ Believe me, that I feel as I ought this proof of courtesy, dear seigneur,” said the 
young man ; “ and this message that, through you, his Excellency Colonel Don 
Pablo Pincheyra sends, is important.” 

“ You will decide that better than me, senor ; my brother requests your presence 
at the interview which is immediately to take place with some Spanish officers, who 
arrived about an hour ago at our head-quarters.” 

“ I am honoured by his excellency deigning to think of mo. I will present myself 
at the council when I shall have received the order to do so.” 

“This order I bring you, Seigneur Frenchman, and if you please to follow me 1 
will accompany you to the place chosen for the interview.” 

“ Very well, Seigneur Don Santiago, I am ready.” 

“ Then we will set out, for they wait for you.” 

The painter exchanged with the guaranis a last look, to which the latter responded 
by one not less significant. 

Ail was gossip at Casa-Frama; the unforeseen arrival of the strangers had 
awakened general curiosity; the streets were literally crammed with men," women, 
and children, who pressed towards the toldo of the colonel. 

The two men had much difficulty in threading a passage through the crowd of 
idlers who obstructed the public way ; and had it not been for Don Santiago, known 
and respected by all, the Frenchman would probably not have succeeded in reaching 
the spot he wanted. 

Although the abode of Don Pablo Pincheyra bore the name of toldo, it was in 


At Casa- Framed 


8 .', 

‘J Urn ■ • , __ — 

reality a vast and airy house built with the greatest possible care for the convenience 
of its owner. The walls were of clay, plastered and whitewashed carefully. The 
windows, with shutters painted green, and ornamented with climbing plants, which 
gtew in various directions, gave it an air of gaiety which made it pleasant to look at. 
The do r, preceded by a peristyle and a verandah, was in the centre of the building. 
Before this door a flag-staff was planted in the earth, surmounted by a Spanish flag. 
Two sentinels, armed with lances, were posted, one at the threshold of the door, the 
other at the foot of the flagstaff. A battery of six pieces of cannon was pointed a 
few paces in advance, half hidden at this moment by thirty horses, all harnessed, 
which champed their bits, and covered them with foam. 

At the sight of Don Santiago the sentinels presented arms, and moved aside 
respectfully to give him passage, whi'e the crowd was kept at a distance by some 
soldiers previously placed there for that purpose, and had no other means of slaking 
their curiosity than that of questioning the attendants of the strangers who were 
watching their masters’ horses. 

The two men entered the house. After having passed through a hall full of 
soldiers, they entend a room where several officers were talking in a high voice about 
the arrival of the strangers. Some of these officers approached Don Santiago to 
ask him the news ; but the latter, who perhaps knew no more than they on this 
subject, or who had received strict instructions from his brother, only gave them 
evasive answers, and putting them aside gently with his hand, he at last entered 
the council-room, followed closely by the French painter, who began to be much 
interested in all he saw. 

The council-room was a rather large apartment, the whitewashed walls of which 
were completely bare, with the exception of a large “Christ” in ivory, placed at the 
extremity of the room, above an arm-chair occupied by Don Pablo Pincheyra. To 
the right of this figure a wietched engraving, frightfully illuminated, purported to 
represent the King of Spain, crowned, and with the sceptre in his hand. To the left 
an engraving, not less ugly, representing Our Lady of Solitude. 

The. furniture was mean and primitive; some few benches and stools ranged 
against the walls, and a small table, formed the whole of it. 

Don Pablo Pincheyra was dressed in the uniform of a Spanish colonel ; near him 
was his brother, Dan Jose Antonio, on the right; the place of Don Santiago on the 
left was for the time vacant ; then came Father Gomez, chaplain of Don Pablo — a 
fat and jovial monk, but whose eyes sparkled with wit ; several officers — captains, 
lieutenants, and subalterns, grouped without order round their chief — were leaning 
on their sabres. 

Before the table was seated a tall, lean man, with ascetic features, and ambiguous, 
deceitful eyes. This was Don Justo Vallejos, secretary of Don Pablo; for. as he 
had given "himself the luxury of a chaplain, this worthy colonel no doubt had felt 
all the great, r need of attaching a secretary to his person. 

A cabo, or corpoial, stood near the door, and filled the functions of door-keeper, 
introducing the visitors. 

“ At last ! ” cried Don Pablo, perceiving the Frenchman ; “ I began to fear that 
you would not come.” 

“ We have had great difficulty in reaching here,” answered Don Santiago, taking 
the place which had been reserved for him. 

“Now you have come, all is ready, Senor Frenchman; place yourself there, near 
my secretary.” 

The young man bowed silently, and, as he had received the order to do, he sat 
down near tho secretary, who, in turn, bowed, and cast a turtive look at him by way 
of salute. 


86 


The Insurgent Chic; \ 


“ Now, caballeros,” pursued Don Pablo, addressing the company, “ do not forget 
that representatives of his most sacred Majesty the King, our sovereign, are abou' to 
appear before us. Let us act, then, as the true caballeros that we are, and let us 
prove to them that v, T e are not so savage as they perhaps have supposed.” 

The officers answered by a respectful bow, sat upright, and threw away their 
cigarettes. 

Looking around him, Don Pablo assured himself that his wishes had been attended 
to. and that his officers had assumed an attitude more becoming than that they had 
previously taken, and then — 

“ Cabo Mendez,” said he, “ introduce to U3 the representatives of his Catholic 
Majesty the King of Spain and the Indies.” 

The corporal opened both leaves of the door, and the persons expected, who were 
in an adjoining apartment, entered the room with a grave and measured tread, after 
the corporal had repeated, with a clear voice, and in an emphatic tone, the last 
words of Don Pablo Pincheyra. 

These strangers, to whom was given a title to which they probably had a very 
doubtful right, were to the number of five. 

Their escort remained without. On perceiving them the young Frenchman with 
difficulty repressed an exclamation of surprise. Of the five persons he had recognised 
two whom he certainly was far from expecting to meet under such cucumsiouccs. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE INTER VIE .V* 

If Emile Gagnepam became somewhat more calm, certainly the strange spectacle 
that he had before him had aroused not only his gaiety but his caustic fancy. This 
shameless parody of interviews accorded by the chiefs of a powerful nation to the re- 
presentatives of another — played seriously by bandits with low and cruel features, 
and hands red with blood — half fox and half wolf — whose affected manners had 
something despicable and repul ive in them — disagreeably impressed the young man, 
and caused him to experience an undefinahle sentiment of disgust and pity for the 
Spanish officers, who did not scruple to come and humbly implore the aid of these 
ferocious partisans, whom for a long time they had implacably pursued, to pumsh 
them for their innumerable misdeeds. 

In fact, the Spanish officers appeared to be perfectly aware of their anomalous 
position, and of trie reprehensible step, wuh regard to honour and the right of nations, 
that they did not at this moment scruple to take. 

Notwithstanding the assurance they affected and their haughty bearing, the blush 
of shame covered their faces. In spite of them their heads drooped, and their eyes 
vested oniy with a kind of hesitation on the pet sons by whom they were surrounded, 
and wlio, without doubt, they wished had been less numerous. 

This unusual ceremony, displayed before them with the evident design of cutting 
them off from all retreat, and of engaging them irrevocably, weighed upon them; 
for tuey understood ail the bearings of such a measure, and the effect it could not 
fail to have beyond the mountains. 


The Interview. 


s; 


The bearing of the Pincheyras formed a striking contrast to that of the Spaniards. 

Tumultuously grouped round their chiefs, with mocking eye and sardonic lip ; they 
'Whispered to each other, throwing disdainful glances over their shoulders. 

Don Pablo Pincheyra and his brothers alone preserved a becoming counten.a*ice. 
They felt their hearts swell with pride as they thought of the parts, which fortune, by 
one of her incomprehensible caprices, called on them suddenly to play. They looked 
upon this attitude as serious, and really believed themselves called upon to replace, 
by the force of their arms, under Spanish domination, those rich colonies which had 
so providentially escaped them, by that just and implacable law of rctaliati m which 
wills that, sooner or later, the executioners shall become in their turn victims of 
those whom they have martyred. 

When the strangers had been introduced by the cabo, and the first salutations had 
been exchanged, Don Pablo Pincheyra commenced — 

“ Welcome to Casa-Frama, Caballeros,” said he, bowing with studied politeness ; 
“ I will try, while you are pleased to stay among us, to render your visit agreeable.” 

“ I thank you, Caballero, in the name of my companions and my own,” answered 
one of the strangers, “for the gracious welcome you have been pleased to give us ; 
permit me on one point only to correct you. It is not a visit that we make to you; 
we come charged with <m important mission by our sovereign and yours.” 

“ We are ready to listen to your message, caballero ; but first will you be so good 
as to acquaint us with your name ? ” 

“ I am,” said the stranger, “ Don Antonio Zinozain de Figueras, lieutenant-colonel 
in the service of his Majesty the King of Spain and the Indies.” 

“ I have very often heard your name, senor caballero,” interrupted Don Pablo 

“Two others, captains of his Majesty, have been attached to me,” continued Don 
Antonio, directing the partisan’s attention to them, “ Don Lucio Ortega and Don 
Estevan Mendoza.” 

The two officers, whose names had just been mentioned, ceremoniously bowed. 

Pincheyra darted a piercing look at them and addressing him who had been de- 
signated by the name of Don Estevan Mendoza — 

“ Prudence, no doubt, has induced you, caballero, to conceal yourself modestly 
under the name of Don Estevan.” 

“ Senor ” stammered the Spaniard. 

“ Reassure yourself, caballero,” continued Don Pablo ; “ though these precautions 
are useless, I understand your scruples.” 

Don Estevan blushed with shame and confusion at these words, but he found no 
words to answer. 

“ Continue, I beg, caballero,” said Don Pablo. 

Don Antonio bowed and answered — 

“ The two other persons who accompany me are — the one an Indian Arancan chief, 
renowned ” 

“ I know him,” said Pincheyra. “A long time ago Captain Marilaun and I slept 
side by side ; I am, then, happy to see him.” 

“ And I also,” answered the chief in excellent Spanish. m If it had only depended 
on my will, 1 should have united myself to your chief several months ago/' 

Don Pablo pressed the hand of the chief. 

“ It only remains to me, caballero,” pursued Don Antonio, “ to present to you this 
officer.” 

“ It is needless, caballero,” quickly interrupted Don Pablo ; “when the time arrives 
he will present himself, informing us of the motives which lead to his presence among 
us. Will you now be so good as to acquit yourself of the mission with which you 
are charged ? ” 


88 


The Insurgent Chief. 


•< Senor caballero,” pursued Don Antonio Zinozain, “ the king, my master and 
yours, satisfied with the services you have rendered to his government since the 
commencement of this deplorable revolt, has deigned to confer on you the grade of 
colonel.” 

“ I thank his Majesty for his kind solicitude for me,” answered Don Pablo with 
a sardonic smile, “ but the grade which he is good enough to conler upon me to-day, 
my sword has long ago conquered for me in the battle-field, where I have poured out 
my blood like water, to maintain the rights of his sacred Majesty.” 

“ I know it, caballero, but it is not to this distinction only that his Majesty confines 
his favours.” 

“ I am listening to you, senor.” 

“ His Majesty has not only resolved to place under your immediate orders a body 
of two hundred men of regular cavalry, commanded by myself and other officers of 
the army, but also he authorises you, by a decree duly signed by him, and registered 
in the chancellor’s office, to take for the corps placed under your orders the title of 
the Faithful Corps of Mountain Chasseurs, to hoist the royal standard quartered 
with Castille and Leon, and to place the Spanish cockade on the hats of your 
soldiers.” 

“ His Majesty accords me these signal favours? ” interrupted Don Pablo, with a 
joyous trembling in his voice. 

“ Moreover,” impassively continued Don Antonio Zinozain, “ his Majesty, con- 
sidering that, up to the present time, guided solely by your devotion and your 
inviolable fidelity, you have sustained the war at your own risk and peril, dispensing 
and compromising your own fortune for his service, without hope of regaining these 
enormous disbursements — his Majesty, I say, whose high wisdom nothing escapes, 
has thought fit to give you a proof of his high satisfaction at this loyal conduct. 
He has consequently ordered that a sum of ioo.ooo piastres shoul 1 be immediately 
placed at your disposal, in order to cover a part of your expenses. Moreover, he 
authorises you to take in advance, from all the war contributions that you shall 
impose on the towns which fall in your power, a tenth, of which you shall dispose 
as you think fit, as being entirely your own property, and this to the amount of 
another 100,000 piastres. His Majesty, besides, charges me, through his excellency 
the viceroy, his deiegate and bearer of full powers, to assure you of his high 
satisfaction and of his desire not to limit to what he has done to-day the reward that 
he reckons to accord to you in the future.” 

“ So,” said Don Pablo, standing erect with a proud smile, “ I am now really a war 
chief.” 

“ His Majesty has so decided,” answered Don Antonio. 

“Vive Dios!” cried the partisan, with a menacing gesture; “his Majesty has 
done well, for I swear that of all those who now fight for his cause, I shall be the 
last to lay down arms. Never will I consent to treat with the rebels, and this oath I 
will keep, rayo ae Cristo 1 ” 

Tne ferocious partisan had risen as he uttered this terrible imprecation ; he had 
bowed his tall figure, tnrown back his hea l, and placed his hand on the pomme 1 of 
his sabre, whilst tie cast at those around him a look of inexpressiole arrogance aud 
of savage energy. 

Tne ssembly were moved by these bold words ; an electric shock appeared to run 
through tnem, and suddenly the whole room burst out into cries and exclamations ; 
and tnen, tne partisans warming by degrees through their own excite .neat, soon 
reached a paroxysm of joy and delirium. 

Primitive natures are easy to draw out. These men, half savages, felt themselves 
recompensed by the honours accorded to their chief; they weie proud of him, and 


The Interview. 


manifested their joy in their own way — that is to say, by bawling out and gesticu- 
lating. 

The Spaniards themselves shared to a certain extent the general excitement. For 
a time, hope, nearly extinguished, arose as strongly in their hearts as on the first day, 
and they persuaded themselves into the belief in a success henceforth impossible. 

In fact, at the point at which affairs had now arrived, this last attempt made by 
the Spaniards was but an act of foolish temerity, the result of which could not but be 
the prolongation, without any necessity, of a war of extermination between men of 
the same race, speaking the same language — an impious war. and a sacrilege 
which they ought, on the contrary, to have terminate 1 as soon as possible, in order 
to spare bloodshed, instead of leaving America under the burden of general reproba- 
tion. But they were driven forward much more by the hatred of the colonists 
towards themselves, than by a sentiment of patriotism and nationality, that the latter 
did not yet understand, and which could not exist on a land which never, since its 
discovery, had been free. 

Emile Gagnepain, the only spectator, apart from his reasons as to personal safety, 
completely disinterested in the question, could not, however, preserve his indifference, 
and assist coldly at this scene. He would even have ended by giving way to the 
general excitement, if the presence of the two Spanish officers — the first cause of all 
his misfortunes — had not restrained him, by inspiring a secret apprehension which 
he vainly tried to combat, but which, spite of all his effoits, continued with an 
obstinacy more and more disquieting to him. 

Although the young Frenchman was prominently placed near Don Pablo 
Pincheyta’s secretary, the Spaniards, from their entrance into the room, had not 
appeared to notice him. Not once had their eyes been directed to him, although 
they must have seen him. This obstinacy in feigning not to see him appeared the 
more extraordinary on the part of these two men, as they had no ostensible motive 
for avoiding him — at least he supposed so. 

But Emile was only waiting for the interview to terminate to approach Captain 
Ortega, and ask him to explain his proceedings. 

When the tumult began to subside, and the partisans had by degrees ceased their 
vociferations, Don Pablo claimed silence with a gesture, and prepared to take leave 
of the Spanish envoys, but Don Antonio Zinozain took a step in advance, and 
turning towards the Indian chief, who, up till then, had remained impassible and 
mute, listening to and observing all that was passing around him, thougu taking 
no part in it — 

“ Has my brother Marilaun nothing, then, to say to the great pale chief? ” asked 
he. 

“ Yes,” sharply answered the Arancan, “ I have sworn this : Marilaun is a 
powerful Apo-Ulmen among the Aucas ; a thousand warriors, when he demands 
them, follow his horse wherever he is pleased to conduct them ; his guipos is obeyed 
on all the territory of the Puelches and the Huiliches; Marilaiin loves the grandfather 
of the pale-faces; he wil fight with his warriors to bring back to their duty the 
wandering sons of the Toqui of the whites. Five hundred Huiliche and Pueiche 
horsemen will range themselves near the Pincheyra when he orders it, for Pincheyra 
has always been a friend of the Aucas, and they consider him as a child of their 
tribe. I have said. Have I spoken well ? ” 

“ I thank you for your generous offer, chief,” answered Don Pablo, ** and I accept 
it with alacrity. Your waniors are brave indeed. The aid you offer me will be very 
useful to his Majesty. Now, caballeros, permit me to offer you hospitality. You 
are fatigued with a long journey. 

M Paidon, senor colonel,” said the Portuguese officer, who till then had kept 


The Insurgent Chief. 


90 


modestly on one side ; “ before you quit this room I will, if you permit me, acqur 
myself of my mission.” 

Notwithstanding his self-control, Don Pablo allowed a gesture of dissatisfaction 
to escape him. 

“ Perhaps it would be better, senor captain,” he replied, in a conciliating tone, “ to 
postpone the communication till a more fitting moment.” 

‘ Why so, senor colonel?” quickly answered the Portuguese; “the moment 
appears to me very suitable, and the spot where we are very appropriate.” 

“ Perhaps so, senor, but it appears to me that this meeting has lasted too long 
already — it is prolonged beyond ordinary limits.” 

“ So, senor colonel, you refuse to hear me ? ” drily pursued the officer. 

“ I do not say that,” quickly answered Don Pablo; “do not misunderstand me, 
I beg. 1 address a simple observation to you in your own interest.” 

“ If it is to be so, caballero, permit me, while thanking you for your courtesy, not 
to accept, at present at least, the gracious offer you make me.” 

Don Pablo threw a stealthy look on the French painter, and then answered with 
visible repugnance — 

“ Speak, then, senor, since you insist on it. Caballeros,” added he, “ you see that 
lam obliged to listen to what this caballero so ardently wishes to tell me ; but I am 
glad to think that he will not detain you long.” 

“ A few minutes only, senor.’’ 

“ Be it so ; we listen to you.” 

And the partisan resumed with a wearied air the seat that he had quitted. Although 
he put a good face upon.it, an observer would have seen that he felt annoyed. The 
Frenchman, put on his guard by Tyro, and who, till this time, had seen nothing in 
what passed that concerned himself, did not allow this circumstance to escape him, 
slight as it was. Feigning entire indifference, he redoubled his attention, and 
imposed silence on Don Pablo’s secretary, who — no doubt warned by his master — 
had suddenly felt inclined to talk with the young man, to whom he had previously 
not condescended to accord the least mark of politeness. 

Thus rebuffed, Senor Vallejos felt constrained to subside again into the same 
silence that had previously distinguished him. 

The Portuguese captain, takng advantage of the permission that had been given 
him, advanced a few paces, and after having ceremoniously bowed to Don Pablo, 
he commenced in a firm tone — 

“ Senor colonel,” said he, “ my name is Don Sebastiao Vianna ; I have the honouf 
to serve in the army of his Majesty the King of Portugal.” 

“ 1 know it, caballero,” drily answered Don Pablo ; “ come to the fact.” 

** I will do so, senor.” 

4 * Very well ; continue.” 

“ General Don Roque, Marquis de Castelmelhor, commander-in-chief of th® 
second division of the corps of occupation of the Banda Orientale. of whom I have 
the honour to be aide-de-camp, sends me to you, Don Pablo Pincheyra, colonel 
commanding a squadron in the service of his Majesty the King of Spain, to beg you 
to ex, lain yourself clearly and fully on the subject of the Marchioness of Castel- 
melhor, his wife, and Dona Eva de Castelmelhor, his daughter, whom you retain, 
against the law of nations, prisoners in your camp at Casa-Frama.” 

“ Ah 1” cried Don Pablo, with a gesture of denial, “ such a supposition attacks 
my honour, senor captain.” 

“ I do not speak on supposition, caballero,” pursued Don Sebastiao, with firmness; 
° be so good as to answer me clearly. Are these ladies, or are they not, in youi 
power.” 


The Interview . 


9 1 


“ These ladies have claimed my assistance to escape from the rebels, who had 
made them prisoners.” 

“ Y ou retain them in your camp ? ” 

Don Pablo turned with an air of vexation towards the Frenchman. 

“ It is true.” at last he answered, “ that these ladies are in my camp, but they 
enjoy perfect liberty.” 

“ But on several occasions, when they have entreated you to allow them to rejoin 
General Castelmelhor, you have always objected to it on some vague pretext.” 

The situation became more and more embarrassing’; the partisan felt rage boiling 
within him ; he saw that he had been betrayed, that his conduct was known, that 
all denial was useless. The honourable distinction that had been so recently con- 
ferred upon him induced him to restrain himself, but he was not sufficiently master 
of himself to repress all manifestations of annoyance — there was in him too much 
of the partisan and the bandit for that. 

“Vive Dios!” cried the partisan, with violence, “one would think that you are 
now making me undergo an examination 1 ” 

“ It is so, in fact,” proudly answered the officer. 

“ Y ou forget, it appears to me, where you are.” 

“ I forget nothing ; I do my duty without troubling myself with the probable 
conseq uences.” 

“ You are jesting, senor,” pursued the partisan, with a wily smile ; “ you have 
nothing to fear from me or mine ; we are soldiers,” 

Don Sebastian smiled bitterly. 

“ I have no fear, senor,” said he, “ but that of not succeeding in accomplishing 
my mission ; but I find that I am detaining you longer than I wished ; I therefore 
briefly conclude. My general charges me to remind Don Pablo Pincheyra, a 
Spanish officer, that his honour, as a soldier, demands that he tjril not in his word, 
loyally given, in retaining against their will two ladies who, of their own accord, 
have placed themselves under his safeguard. He, consequently, begs him to send 
them under my escort to the head-quarters of the Portuguese army. To Pincheyra, 
the partisan chief — a man to whom the words honour and loyalty are void of 
meaning, and who only seeks lucre — the Marquis of Castelmelhor offers a ransom 
of 4,000 piastres, that I am charged to pay on the surrender of the two ladies. 
Now I have finished, cabal lero ; it is for you to tell me to whom I am now speaking 
— to the Spanish officer or to the Montonero.” 

After these words, uttered with a short and dry voice, the captain leant on his 
sabre, and waited. 

Meanwhile, a lively agitation reigned in the room; the partisans whispered to 
each other, casting angry glances at the bold officer who dared to brave them in 
their own camp. 

Don Pablo rose, calmed the tumult with a gesture, and, when silence was 
re-established, replied — 

“ Senor captain, I excuse the bitterness and exaggeration in what you have ju3t 
said ; you are ignorant of what has passed, and do not know how to acquit yourself 
of the mission with which you are charged. The tone you have thought proper to 
take would perhaps, with any other man than me, have serious consequences for 
you ; but, I repeat, I excuse you in wrongly supposing me to have intentions which 
have always been far from my thoughts. These ladies have asked for my protec- 
tion ; I have accorded it them to the full. They now think they can do without it. 
Be it so ; they are free ; nothing prevents them leaving with you; they are not my 
prisoners. I have, then, no ransom to exact from them. My only reward will be 
'o have been happy enough to have been of service to them in so perilous a position 


9 * 


The Insurgent Chief. 


That is the answer, senor captain, that I have to make to you. Will you inform 
his excellency the Marquis de Castelmelhor as to the manner in which I have aeteC.' 
with you, and assure him that I have been happy to render to these ladies the 
services that they have claimed from me on my honour as a soldier.” 

“This answer fills me with joy, caballero,” resumed the officer. “Believe me 
that I thought it a dutv to dispel from the mind of my gtneial the prejudices winch 
he had acquired against you.” 

“ All is settled, then, senor. When do you leave?” 

** As soon as I possibly can, senor.” 

“ I understand ; the Marquis do Castelmelhor must be impatient to see once more 
two persons who are so dear to him. But 1 venture to hope, then, that you will 
accept the invitation that I have made these Caballeros, and share the hospitality 
that 1 offer them.” 

“ With all my heart, caballero, only I should wish that you would permit me to 
see the ladies.” 

“ I will myself conduct you to them, senor captain, as soon as you have taken 
some refreshments.” 

'1 he captain bowed ; a further persistence would have been in bad taste. 

Don Pablo then left the room with his guests and his most intimate officers. On 
passing the French painter he did not say a word to him, but he looked at him 
sardonically. 

“ Hum ! ” murmured he to himself; “ it is not so clear to me. I believe 1 must 
more than ever watch over these poor ladies.” 

And he left the room shaking his head for some time* 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE TOLDO. 

On leaving the reception-room, Emile Gagnepain proceeded to the toldo occupied by 
the Marchioness de Castelmelhor and her daughter. In thus acting, the young man 
obeyed a presentiment which told him that in what had passed before him a melan- 
choly farce had been played by Don Pablo, and that the readiness with which he 
had consented to part with them concealed some petfidy or other. 

This presentiment had become so fixed on the young man’s mind — it had become 
so real to him — mat, although nothing arose to coiroborate this suspicion of treachery, 
he was perfectly convinced of it, and would have asserted as much had occasion 
called for it. 

Drawn, spite of himself, into a series of adventures very disagreeable to a man 
who, like him, had come to America to seek for that freedom and tranquillity of 
mind which his country, torn by factions, refused him, the young man had at last — 
as always happens — become interested in the anomalous position into which he had 
been thrown, with the feverish anxiety of a man who sees passing before him the 
scenes of a stirring drama. Moreover, without his taking any heed of it, a senti- 
ment that he could not analyse had taken possession of his heart. This feeling had 
grown, unknown to himself, almost insensibly, and finally had acquired such force 


The Toldo. 


93 


that the young man — who began to be frightened at the novel situation in which he 
was suddenly placed — despaired of freeing himself from it Like all natures not 
feeble, but careless — not daring seiiously to question himself, and sound the gulf 
which had thus opened in his heart — he allowed himself carelessly to be drifted by the 
current which carried him along, enjoying the present without caring for the future, 
and assuring himself that when the catastrophe arrived it would be time enough to 
face the danger and to take his stand. 

He had taken but a few steps in the camp when, turning his head, he perceived 
Don Santiago Pincheyra at a few paces behind him. 

The Montonerc was walking carelessly, his arms behind his back, with a vague 
look, whistling a sombajueca — in a word, all the appearance of a man taking a 
lounging walk. But the painter was not deceived : he knew that Don Pablo, en- 
gaged with his guests, towards whom he was obliged to do the honours of the 
camp, had deputed his brother to watch his movements. 

The young man by degrees slackened his pace unaffectedly, and, turning suddenly 
on his heel, found himself face to face with Don Santiago. 

“Eh!” said he, “ what a charming surprise, senor l You have then left your 
brother, Don Pablo.” 

“ As you see, senor,” answered the other. 

“ And you are, no doubt, taking a walk ? ” 

“ Upon my word, yes ; between ourselves, dear senor, these formal receptions 
weary me.” 

“Carai, I know it!” said the Frenchman. “ Well, I am delighted that you 
have succeeded in disengaging yourself from these proud and haughty strangers. 
It is very fortunate for me that you are free. I confess 1 scarcely reckoned on the 
pleasure of meeting you.” 

“ You were seeking me, then?” said Don Santiago. 

“ Certainly, I was looking for you.” 

“ Ah ! why were you seeking me, then ? ” 

“ Well, dear senor, as you are one of my best friends, I intended to ask a service 
of you.” 

“ To ask a service of me — me ? ” 

“ Parblieu l who else ? Except your brother, Don Pablo, and you, I do not know 
any one at Casa-Frama.” 

“ It is true ; you are a forastero stranger.’* 

“ Alas 1 ye® — all that there is left of a forastero.” 

“ What is the service? ” asked the Montonero. 

“ This is the affair,” answered the latter with imperturbable coolness; “only I beg 
you to keep the secret, for it concerns other persons.” 

“ All ! ah ! ” excl. limed Don Santiago. 

“ Yes,” pursued the young man, nodding his head affirmatively, " you promise to 
keep it secret.” 

*• On my honour.” 

“ Thank you, I am satisfied. I confess, then, that I begin to be horribly bored at 
Casa-Frama.” 

“ I can understand that,” answered the Montonero. 

“ ] wish to leave, but first, there are the two ladies whom you know.'* 

“ That is true,” sa'd he with a smile. 

“ Y ou do not understand me.” 

“ How so ? ” 

“ Why, you appear to suppose that I wish to remain with them, whereas It is 
they who persistently demand that 1 stay with them,” 


The Insurgent ChieJ . 


24 


The Montonero cast a stealthy and suspicious look on his companion, but tha 
Frenchman was on his guard; his face was inexpressive as maible. 

“ Good, continue,’* said he, after a pause. 

“ You know that I have assisted at the interview.** 

44 Parbleu ! seeing that it was I who conducted you there. You were seated near 
the secretary.” 

“ Well, these ladies are on the point of quitting Casa-Frama. Don Pabio consents 
to their departure.” 

“You wish to leave with them ? ** 

“ You have not guessed it ; I should like to leave, it is true, but not with them, 
since they go under the escort of Spanish officers.” 

“ Just so.” 

“ Then they will no longer have any pretext for preventing me quitting them.” 

“ That is true ; then — ” 

“ Then I desire that you get your brother to grant me a safe-conduct to traverse 
your lines and regain as quickly as possible Tucuman.” 

“ Is it really to return to Tucuman that you want a safe-conduct? ” 

“ For what reason should it be, then ? ” 

“ I do not know ; but my brother ” 

“ Your brother ! ” suggested the young man. 

“ Nothing — 1 made a mistake ; do not attach to what I say to you a sense which 
cannot be true.” 

“Are there any difficulties in your granting me the safe-conduct? ” 

”1 do not see any; however, I should not dare to do so without informing my 
brother.” 

“ Do not distress yourself about that ; I have no intention of leaving the camp 
without his authority.” 

“ Y ou are then in a hurry to depart ? ” 

“ To a certain extent ; it would be better, I think, if I couM go away without seeing 
these ladies, and befote them. In this way I should avoid the request they would 
not fail to make, to accompany them.” 

“ That would indeed be better.” 

“ Then come and find your brother.” 

" Be it so.” 

They proceeded towards the toldo of Don Pablo ; but about half-way the French- 
man stopped. 

“ What’s wrong with you ? ’’ asked Don Santiago. 

“ I am thinking there is no occasion for us to go together; you will arrange this 
matter much better than me. While you go there I will prepare everything for my 
departure/* 

The young man spoke with such decided good-nature, that Don Santiago, despite 
all his cleverness, was deceived. 

“ Very good,” said he ; “ while I see my brother, make your preparations.*’ 

“ However, if you prefer it, perhaps it would be better for me to accompany you ? ” 

** No. no, it is needless.” 

“ I thank you in advance.” 

The two men shook hands and separated, Don Santiago proceeding towards hi* 
brother’s house, which was also his own, and the Frenchman apparently going in 
the direction of the habitation which had been assigned to him ; but as soon as the 
partisan had turned the corner of the nearest street, Emile, having assured himself 
that no new spy was dogging his steps, immediately changed his route, and took 
that towards the dwelling of the two ladies. 


The To Ido. 


Pincheyra had lodged his captives in an isolated toldo at one of the extremities of 
the camp — a toldo wttn its back to an alm ost perpendicular mountain, and whicn tor 
that reason assured him against the probabilities of t eir flight. This toldo was 
di.tded into several compartments ; it was clean and furnished with all the luxury 
that the locality admitted. 

Two Indian women had been attached by the partisan to the service of the ladies, 
appaiently as servants, but in reality to watch them and render him an account of 
what tl ey said and did ; for, notwithstanding all the deni-ns of Don Pablo, the 
marchioness and her daughter, although treated with the greatest respect, Were 
really prisoners. 

It was only with great caution and by stealth that the young painter succeeded in 
Seeing them. 

The domestics incessantly hovered round th.ir mistresses, ferreting, listening, and 
watching; and if by chance they went away, the sister of Don S inti ago, who 
pretended to manifest a lively friendship for the strangers, came and installed herself 
near them unceremoniously, and remained tnere nearly all toe day, fatiguing them 
with studied caresses and lying exhibitions of a friendship which they perfectly knew 
was false. 

However, thanks to Tyro, whose devotion did not slacken, and who knew well 
how to cope with the two Indian women, Emile had succeeded in pretty well 
escaping from them. But to-day, after having dui ing the morning made a long visit to 
the ladies, the sister had withdrawn, in order to assist at the repast that her brother 
gave to the officers. 

The marchion ss and her daughter were then, for some time at least, delivered 
from their spies, mistresses of their time, and free to a certain extent to converse 
with the only friend who had not abandoned them, without fear of their words 
being repeated to the man who had so disgracefully betrayed, in their case, the laws 
of hospitality. 

At a few paces from the toldo, the young man came across Tyro, who, without 
speaking, made him understand by mute signs, that the ladies were alone. 

The young man entered. 

The marchioness and her daughter, sitting sadly by each other’s side, were read- 
ing a prayei-book. 

At the sourd which Emile made in crossing the threshold of the door, they quickly 
raised their heads. 

“ Ah 1 ” exclaimed the marchioness, whose countenance immediately brightened 
up, “ it is you at last.” 

“ Excuse me, madame,” he answered, “ I can but very rarely come to see you.” 

« I know it. Like us, you are watched and exposed to suspicion. Alas ! we have 
only escaped the revolutionists to fall into the han«is of men more cruel still.” 

“ Have you to complain of the proceedings of Don Pablo Pincheyra, or of any of 
his people, madame ? ” 

“ Oh 1 ” answered she, with a significant smile, “ Don Pablo is polite — too polite, 
perhaps, for me ! Oh I mon Dieu 1 what have I done to be thus exposed to his 
persecutions ? ” 

“ Have you seen my servant this morning, madame?” 

** Is it of Tyro that you speak ? ” 

“Yes, of him, madame.” 

“ I have seen him for a moment.” 

° Has he said nothing to you ? 

•t Very little ; he announced to me your visit, adding that no doubt you would nave 
Important news to communicate to me.” 


96 


Tlii Insurgent Chief \ 


I have indeed, madame, important news to announce to you, but I do not know 
Jiow to do so.” 

“ How so ? ” cried Dona Eva ; “ do you fear to afflict us, Senor Don Emile ? ” 

“ I fear, on the contrary, senora, to raise in your heart a hope which may not be 
realised.” 

“ What do you mean ? Speak, senor, in the name of heaven,” quickly interrupted 
the marchioness. 

« This morning-, madame, several strangers entered Casa-Frama.” 

“ I know it, caballero. It is to that circumstance that I owe not having near me 
the body-guard of a cornet that it has been thought I ought to have — that is to say, 
the sister of Don Pablo Pincheyra.” 

“ Do you know these strangers, madame ? ” 

« Your question surprises me, caballero. Since my arrival here, you know that I 
have scarcely been permitted to take a few steps out.” 

“ Excuse me, madame; I will explain. Have you heard speak of Don Sebastiao 
Vianna ? ” 

“ Y es, yes,” cried Dona Eva, clapping her hands with joy ; •* Don Sebastiao is one 
of the aides-de-camp of my father.” 

The countenance of the young man clouded. 

4 ‘ So you are sure you know him ? ” pursued he. 

“Certainly,” answered the marchioness; “how can my daughter and I fail to 
know a man who is our distant relation, and who has stood godtather to my 
daughter ? ” 

“Then, madame, I am deceived, and the news I bring you is really good 
news.” 

“ How is that? ” 

“ Among the strangers who have arrived this morning at Casa-Frama, one of 
them is charged with claiming your being immediately set at liberty, on the part of 
the Marquis de Castelmelhor. This stranger is named Don Sebastiao Vianna, 
wears the costume of a Portuguese officer, and is, he says, aide-de-camp of General 
the Marquis de Castelmelhor. I ought to avow that id this matter Don Pablo 
Pincheyra has conducted himself as a true caballero. After having denied that you 
were his prisoners, he nobly refused the sum proposed for your ransom, and engaged 
to place you to-day in the hands of Don Sebastiao.” 

There was a minute’s silence. The marchioness was pale, her eyebrows knitted 
under the influence of internal emotion, and her fixed look denoted an intense feeling, 
which she repiessed with difficulty. Dona Eva, on the contrary, brightened up ; 
the hope of liberty illuminated her features with a halo of happiness. 

The young man looked at the marchioness without understanding this emotion, 
the cause ot which he vainly sought. At last she said : 

“ Are you realty certain, caballero,” said she, “ that the officer of whom you speak 
is Don Sebastiao ? ’’ 

“Perfectly, senora. I have several times heard him called in my presence; 
besides, it would be quite impossible for me to invent a name that I have never 
before to-day heard pronounced.” 

“ It is true; and yot what you tell me is so extraordinary, that I confess I do not 
dare to believe it.” 

“ Oh, my mother,” cried Don Eva, in a tone of reproach, 44 Don Sebastiao 
Vianna, the most loyal man ” 

“What assures you, my daughter,” quickly interrupted the marchioness, “ that 
this man is really Don Sebastiao.” 

D», madame,” said the young man. 


The Toldo. 


97 


“ Caballero, Don Sebastiao was, scarcely two months ago, in Europe,” answered 
the marchioness. 

This remark fell like a thunderbolt in the midst of the conversation, and suddenly 
Chilled the hope in the heait of the young girl. 

At the samj moment a whistle sound. d from without. 

“Tyro warns me,” said Emile, “that some one comes this way; I can stay no 
longer. Whatever happens, do not abandon yourself to despair, feign to accept, 
whatever they are, the prepositions that will be made to you ; anything is preferable 
to you than to remain longer here. I also will watch. I shall soon see you again 
- -courage ! Reckon on me.” 

And without waiting for the answer that the two ladies were doubtless preparing to 
make, the young man darted into the stteet. 

Tyro, who was watching for his appearance, seized him quickly by the arm. 

“ Look ! ” said he. 

The painter leant forward cautiously, and perceived Don Pablo Pincheyra, his 
sister, the Portuguese officer, and three or four other persons, who were going 
towards the habitation of the ladies. 

*' Him!’’ he exclaimed ; “ it was time.” 

“ Is it not ? But I was watching, happily.” 

“ Come, Tyro, let us return to my place. Don Santiago must expect me." 

“ You have given me a rendezvous? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, have I deceived you, my friend ? ” 

“ No, certainly ; what I have seen has surpassed my expectation. But who, then, 
is this Don Sebastiao ? ” 

The guaranis answered by a sneer of bad omen. 

“ There is something, is there not ? ” asked Emile, with uneasiness. 

“ With the Pincheyras there is always something, my friend,” pursued the Indian, 
in a low voice; ** but here we are at your toldo ; be prudent.” 

“ Inform the gauchos that probably we shall set out to-day ; prepare all, so that 
we rnay be ready.’’ 

“ We are going to leave ? ’* 

“ I hope so.” 

“Oh, then, all is not yet lost.” 

They entered the toldo ; it was deserted ; Don Santiago had not yet appeared. 
Whilst Tyro went to tell the gauchos to get ready, to saddle their horses, and to 
bring the baggage-mules from the corral, the young man proceeded, with feverish 
rapidity, to make his preparations. 

So when half-an-hour later Don Santiago entered the toldo, the suspicious look 
that nt tlnew around him did not reveal anything which could give rise to a sus- 
picion that the Frenchman had not commenced his task immediately after having 
quitted him. 

“ Ah 1 ah 1 ” exclaimed the young man on seeing him ; “ welcome, Don Santiago^ 
especially if vou bring my safe-conduct.” 

“ I bring it you,” answered Don Santiage. 

“ Pardieu 1 it must be confessed that you are a valuable friend; Don Pablo r*as 
not made any difficulties ? ” 

“ None.” 

“ Well, he is really very obliging to me; so I can set out?” 

“Yes, on two conditions.” 

“ Ah l there are conditions l And what are they ? ” 


£ 


9 8 


The Insurgent Chief. 


“The first is, that you will set out immediately, and without seeing any ont,” ho 
added. 

“ My people ? ’* 

“ You shall take them with you ; what do you think that we should do with them 
here ? ” 

“ You are right; well, what is the second condition? if it is like the first, 1 doubt 
not that I shall accept it without hesitation.” 

“ Here it is : Don Pablo desires that I escort you for a few leagues. Does that 
displease you ? ” 

“Me!” answered Emile, laughing; “why should it be displeasing to me? 1 
am, on the contiary, very gratelul to vour brother. He, no doubt, fears that 1 should 
wander in the mazes of these mountains,” added he* 

“ I do not know ; I obey — that is all.” 

“ That is right, and particularly logical/* 

“ So you accept these two conditions ? ” 

“ With gratitude.” 

“ Then we will set out when you like.” 

“ I would say immediately, but, unfortunately, I am obliged to wait for my horses, 
which have not yet come from the corral.” 

“ It i? not yet late, so there is no time lost.” 

“ Now that we are agreed, suppose we take a drop of brandy ? ” 

“ Upon my word I shall be delighted, senor.” 

The Frenchman took a bottle and poured out some brandy into two horn goblets. 

4 ‘ To your health ! ” said he, drinking. 

“ To your pleasant journey,” answered Don Santiago. 

“ Thank you.” 

A sound of horses was heard from without. 

“ Here are your animals.” 

“ Then we shall be ready in a few minutes. If you like, while we arc loading, 
inform the men who are to accompany you.” 

“ They have been told; they are waiting for us in the intrenchments.” 

Tyro and the gauchos then proceeded, aided by Emile and Don Santiago, to load 
the two mules and to saddle the horses. 

The Frenchman, accustomed to travel in these countries, had very little luggage; 
he never carried with him anything but what was indispensable. 

Half an hour afterwards the caravan started out at a gentle pace, accompanied by 
Don Santiago, who followed it on foot, smoking his cigarette, and talking with the 
young man in a friendly way. 

As the Montoncro had said, a dozen horsemen were waiting at the intrenchments. 

The Pincheyra mounted his horse, gave the order of departure; the keepers opened 
tbs barriers, and the little troop quitted the camp in good order. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


IN THE MOUNTAIN. 

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon whem Emile Gagnepain left the camp 
Notwithstanding the rather suspicious escort by which he was accompanied, it was 
with a sigh of satisfaction that the young man at last saw himself clear of this 
repair of bandits, from which at one time he feared he should never again set out. 

The route which the little caravan followed was most picturesque and varied. A 
narrow path wound on the side of the mountains, almost always close to unfathom- 
able precipices, from the base of which arose mysterious murmurs produced by 
invisible waters. Sometimes a bridge formed by two trunks of trees thrown across 
a chasm, which suddenly interrupted the route, was crossed, as if in play, by horses 
and mules a long time accustomed to walk over routes more perilous still. 

Obliged to travel one behind the other, owing to the narrowness of the scarcely- 
traced path which they were pursuing, the travellers could not talk to each other ; it 
was scarcely possible for them to exchange a few words, and they were constrained 
to abandon themselves to their own thoughts, or to charm the weariness of the 
journey by singing or whistling. It was in thus examining the abrupt and wild 
landscape by which he was surrounded that the young man formed a good idea of 
the formidable and almost impregnable position chosen by the partisan for his head- 
quarters, and the great influence that this position must give him over the dismayed 
inhabitants of the plain. He shuddered as he t .ought of the imprudence he had 
committed in allowing himself to be taken to this fortress which, like the infernal 
circles of Dante, was by nature surrounded by impassable intrenchments, and which 
never gave up the prey that had once been drawn into it. A crowd of melancholy 
stories of young girls, who had been carried away and had disappeared, recurred to 
his mind, and, by a strange reaction of thought, he experienced a kind of retrospec- 
tive turn — if we may be allowed the expression — in blinking of the terrible dangers 
that he had run in the midst of these lawless bandits, by whom, in many instances, 
the law of nations — sacred among all civilised peoples — had not been respected. 

Then, from reflection to reflection — by a very natural gradation — his mind fixed 
itself on the ladies whom he had left without support or protection in the midst of 
these n en. Although he had only left them with the design of attempting a las' 
effort for their deliverance, his conscience reproached him for having abandoned them 
for, notwithstanding the absolute impossibility of his being useful to them at Casa- 
Frama, he was convinced that his presence was a check upon the Pincheyras, and 
that before him none of them would have dared to have subjected the captives to any 
brutal act. 

A prey to these painful thoughts, he felt his spirits sadden by degrees, and the joy 
that he had at ft st experienced on seeing himself unexpectedly at liberty gave place 
to the despondency which several times already had seized on him, and had destroyed 
his energy. 

Emile was drawn from his reflections by the voice in ±!ion Santiago, which sud- 
denly tell upon his ear. 

The young man quickly raised his head, and looked round him like a man sud- 
denly awakened. 

The landscipe had completely changed. The path had by degrees become 
broader, and had assumed the appearance of a regular route; the mountains were 


lOO 


The Insurgent Chief. 


lower ; their sides were now covered with verdant forests, the leafy summits of which 
were tinted with all the colours of the rainbow by the mdd lays of the set ;ing sun. 
The caravan emerged at this moment into a rather extensive plain, surrounded by 
thick shubbery and traversed by a narrow stream, the capricious meanderings of 
which were lost here and there in the midst of high and thi.k grass. 

“ What do you want? ” asked the Frenchman, who, susceptible, like all artists, had 
become absorbed, unknown to himself by the influence of this majestic landscape, 
and ielt gaiety replace the sadness which had fora long time oppressed him ; “ what 
do you want now, Don Santiago ? ” 

“ The devil ! ” exclaimed the latter ; “ it is fortunate that you have at last consented 
to answer me. For more than a quarter of an hour I have been speaking to you 
without getting a word out of you. It seems as if you had been sound asleep, com* 
panion.” 

“ Pardon me, senor, I was not asleep ; I was reflecting, which is often much about 
the same.” 

“Demoniol I will not quibble about that; but as you now consent to listen 
to me, will you be so good as to answer me ? ” 

“ I am quite agreeable; but that 1 may do so, it will be necessary, my dear Don 
Santiago, to repeat your question, of which I assure you I have not heard a word.” 

“ I will do so, a'though, without exaggeration, I have done so at least ten times 
to no purpose.” 

" I have already begged you to excuse me.” 

“ 1 know it, and I tnerefore will not be offended. This is what I have to say : it is 
at least six o’clock ; the sun is setting amidst coppery clouds of the worst kind ; I 
fear a storm to-night.” 

“ Oh ! oh 1 ” exclaimed the young man ; “ are you sure of that? ” 

“ I have too much acquaintance with these mountains to be deceived.” 

“ Hum ! and what do you intend to do ? ” 

“ Tnat is what I ask ; that concerns you as much as me, I suppose.” 

“Just so — even more, since it is for my sake that you have agreed to accompany 
me. Well, what is your advice? ” 

“That is whaul call speaking, and your answer is none the worse for making me 
wait for it. My a Ivice, then, would be to s op here, place ourselves under shelter from 
the hurricane, and camp for the night.” 

“ I think that you are right, and that it would be folly, under circumstances like 
these, considering the advanced hour, to persist in going further.” 

“ Especially as it would be almost impossiole for us to reach as good a refuge as 
this.” 

“ Let us stop, then, without further discussion, and let us hasten to make our en- 
campment.” 

“ Well, dear senor, as it is to be so, alight and let us unload the mules.” 

“ Very good,” said the young man, leaping from his horse. 

Don Santiago had spoken truly. The sun was setting, drowned in waves of dull 
clouds; the evening breeze was rising with some force; the birds wheeled in large 
circles, uttering discordant cries — everything, in fact, foretold one of those terrible 
huiricanes called temporales, the violence of which is so great that the country over 
which they wreak their vengeance is in a few minutes completely changed and thrown 
into disorder, as if an earthquake had shatreied it. 

The painter had several times, since his arrival in America, been in a position to 
witness the terrifying spectacle of these frightful convulsions of nature. Knowing 
the inconvenience of the danger then, he hastened to prepare everything. The bag- 
gage, piled together in the centre of the valley, not far trorn the stream, formed a 


In the Mountain , 


ICI 


cotiJ rampart against the greatest furv of the wind ; the horses were left free and 
abandoned to that infallible instinct with which Providence has endowed them, and 
which in giving them a fores no wledge of the danger, suggests to them the means 
of escaping from it. Then, in a hole dug in haste, they lit the fire for cooking the 
slices of chaiqui, or wild bull’s flesh dried in the sun, destined, with the hari a 
tostada and a little queso of goat’s flesh, for the evening meal. The water from the 
brook served to satisfy the thirst of the travellers, for, except Don Santia o and the 
painter, who were each provided with a large bota of white brandy, they did not carrr 
with them either wine or liqueurs ; but this forgetfulness, if it really was such, was 
of little importance for men of such great frugality as the Hispano-Americans — 
people who live, so to speak, on nothing, and whose hunger or thirst is appeased by 
the first thing which offers itself. 

The meal was what it should be among men who expect from one moment to 
another to see a terrible and inevitable danger fall upon them — that is to say, sor- 
rowful and silent. Each ate in haste, without holding conversation with his neigh- 
bour; then, hunger satisfied and the cigarette lighted, the travellers, without even 
wishing good night to each other, enveloped themselves in their fresadas and their 
pellones, and tried to sleep with that placid resignation which forms the founda- 
tion of the character of the creoles, and makes them accept without useless murmurs 
the frequently disastrous consequences of the nomadic life to which they are con- 
demned. 

Soon, with the exception of the three or four sentinels placed on the outskirts of 
the encampment, in order to guard against the approach of wild beasts, and the two 
chiefs of the caravan — that is to say, Don Santiago and Emile — all were plunged 
into deep sleep. 

The Pincheyra seemed thoughtful ; he smoked his cigarette, his back leaning on 
a trunk of a tree, and his eyes directed straight forward, without looking on any 
object. The Frenchman, on the contrary, more wakeful and more gay than ever, 
was humming a tune and amusing himself by digging with the point of a knife a 
hole in which he piled some dry wood, evidently intending to light a watch-fire to 
warm his feet, when he felt inclined to go to sleep. 

“ Eh 1 Don Santiago,” said he at last, addressing Pincheyra, and touching him 
lightly on the shoulder, “ what are you thinking of now? Is it that you are not 
going to trv and sleep for a couple of hours? ” 

The Chilian shook his head without answering. 

“ What does it matter ? ’’ pursued the young man, persistently — 4 * you, who a 
little while ago repioached me for my melancholy — you seem to have inherited it, 
upon my word.” 

“ Do you take me for a woman ? ” answered he, at last, in a surly tone ; “ what 
matters to me the state of the sky ? Am I not a child of the mountains, accustomed 
from my infancy to brave the most terrible storms?” 

“ But, then, what is it that distresses you ? '* 

“ What is it? Do you wish to know ? '* 

“ Pardieu ! since I ask it.” 

Don Santiago shook his head, threw around him a suspicious look, and then at 
last made up his mind to speak in a low and almost indistinct voice, as if he feared 
to be heard, although all his companions were asleep at too great a distance for the 
6ound of his voice to reach them. 

“ I have,” said he, “ one thing that vexes me.” 

“ You, Don Santiag''— you astonish me ; can it be that you are on bad terms 

with Don Pablo?” . 

« My brother, it is true, has something to do with the affair, but with him per- 


102 


The Insurgent Chief. 


sonally T bare no misunderstanding — at least, I believe so, for with him one never 
knows how to act ; no, it is only on your account that I am chagrined just now.*' 

“On my account 1’’ cried the young man, with surprise, “I confess I do net 
understand you.” 

“ Speak lower ; there is no occasion for our companions to hear what we say. 
Ibook vou, Don Emile, I wish to be frank with you. We are about to separate, 
perhaps never to see one another again — and I hope, for your sake, it may be so. 
I wish our parting to be friendly, and that you should not entertain any ill-feeling 
against me.” 

“ I assure you, Don Santiago ” 

“ I know what 1 say,” interrupted he, with some vivacity ; “ you have rendered me 
a great service. I cannot deny that, to a certain extent, I owe my life to you, for 
when I met you in the cavern of the rancho my position was almost desperate ; weil, 
I have not, in appearance, conducted myself towards you as I ought to have done. 
1 engaged myself to shelter you and yours from the danger which threatened you, 
and I have conducted you to Casa-Frama, when I ought, on the contrary, to have 
taken you in quite an opposite direction. I know that I have acted badly in this 
respect, and you have a right to entertain ill-feeling to me. But I was not free to 
do otherwise. I was forced to obey a will stronger than my own — the will of my 
brother — whom no one has ever dared to resist. Now, I acknowledge my fault, and 
I wish as much as possible to repair the evil I have done, and that I have allowed 
to be done.” 

“That is speaking like a caballero, Don Santiago. Be assured that, come what 
may, 1 shall be pleased at what you tell me at this moment ; but, since you have 
begun so well, do not leave me any longer in painful doubt ; answer me sincerely, 
will you ?” 

*• Yes, as far as it depends on me.” 

“ The ladies that I have been obliged to abandon, do they run any danger at 
present ? ” 

“ 1 think so.” 

“ On the part cf your brother ? ” 

“Yes, on my brother’s part, and others’ also. These two strangers have im- 
placable enemies.” 

“ Poor women l ’’ murmured the young man, sighing ; “ they will not, then, leave 
the camp ? ” 

“ Yes; to-morrow, at sunrise, they will quit, escorted by the officer.” 

“ Do you know that officer ? ” 

* A little.” 

* Who is he?” 

“ That I cannot say ; I have sworn not to reveal it to any one.” 

The Frenchman saw that he must not persist. 

“ What route will they take? ” asked he. 

“ That which we are following.” 

“ And they are going ” 

“ Towards the Brazilian frontier.’’ 

*' So they will rejoin General Castelmelhor ? ** 

The Pincheyra shook his head negatively. 

“ Then why take this direction ? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

“ And, nevertheless, you think that danger threatens them 

“Terrible.” 

“ Of what kind ? ” 


In the Mountain 


103 


u I do not know.’* 

The young man stamped his foot with vexation. These continual reticences on 
the part of the partisan disquieted him more than the truth, so frightful that he kept 
watching out to hear it. 

“ So,” pursued he, after a pause, “ supposing I remain here for some time I shall 
sec them.” 

“ " here is no doubt of it.’* 

“ What do you advise? 

“ Ms ? ” 

« Yes.” 

“ Nothing ; I am not, like you, in love with Dona Eva,” said he, with a certain 
tinge of raillery, which made the young man start. 

“ In love with Dona Eva ! ” — cried he — “ I ? ” 

“ What other motive could induce you, with all the chances against you, to risk 
your life to save her, if it were not so ? ” 

“ The young man did not answer. A light flashed suddenly on his mind. That 
secret, which he had hid from himself, others knew it; and when he did not dare to 
question himself on this insensate love which burned within him, the certainty of its 
existence was discovered even by strangers. 

“ Oh ! ” stammered he at last ; “ D<*» Santiago, do you think me capable of such 
a folly ? ” 

“ 1 do not know if it is a folly to love when one is young and ardent as you are,” 
coldly answered the Pincheyra. “ I have never loved but my horse and my gun ; 
but I know well that the love of two young and handsome beings is a law of nature, 
and that I do not see what reason you should have to try and escape from it. 1 do 
not blame you or approve you ; I state a fact — that is all.” 

The young painter was astonished to hear a man speak thus who, up to that 
time, he had supposed to be endowed with a very mode ate share of intelligence, and 
all whose aspirations seemed to him directed towards war and piliage. This half 
savage, uttering with so careless an air sentiments so humanely philosophic, seemed 
to him an incomprehensible phenomenon. 

'1 he Pincneyra, witnout appearing to notice the impression he had produced on his 
companion, continued quietly — 

“The officer who escorts these ladies not only is ignorant of your love for the 
younger of the two ladies, but he is not even aware that \ou know them. For par- 
ticular and personal reasons, my brother has thought proper to keep silence on that 
subject. I give you this information, the correctness of which I guarantee, because 
it will be of service to you in case of need.” 

“ Now, it is too late.” 

“Don Emile, know this — that immediately a r ter our conversation my companions 
and I will withdraw, for our mission is terminated ; and if I have remained so long 
with you, it is because 1 decided to tell you certain things.” 

“ 1 thank you for it.” 

“ Well, I am certain that you will not quit this place without having tried, not 
only to see these ladies again, but to carry them off from those who have them in 
charge — which, for that matter, would not be impossible, since they will be but a 
dozen at the most. I wish you good fortune from the bottom of my heart, for I like 
you. But take my advice — act with prudence; cunning has united more bonds than 
force has broken. Follow the counsel that I give you, and I hope that you will find 
it good. Now we must separate ; I have, if not lepaired, at least lessened the serious 
consequences of the fault I have been obliged to commit. Let us part friends. Tne 
only hope that I have is, that wc shall never see one another again.” 


i©4 


The Insurgent ChieJ. 


“What! you are going to set out in the midst of darkness when we arra 
threatened with a storm ! ” 

“ It must be, Don Emile. I am expected there. My brother is preparing an 
important expedition, in which I outfit, and wish, to assist. As to the storm, it will 
not burst for two cr three hours, and, terrible as it may be, it is too old an acquaint- 
ance tor me not to know how to defend myself fro n it. Adieu, then, and once more 
— good fortune! Whatever happens, silence on what I have said I Now, wrap 
yourself in your poncho, and feign to sleep till I have given the signal for my men 
to depart.” 

The young man followed the counsel which had been given to him ; he rolled 
himself in his mantle and stretched himself on the ground. 

When Don Santiago was assured that nothing would arouse suspicion as to the 
conversation which had just taken place, he rosej stretched his limbs to freshen him- 
self up, and, taking a whistle suspended to his neck by a little silver chain, he gave 
a shrill and prolonged call with it. 

The horsemen immediately raised their heads. 

“ Come, boys I ” cried the Pincheyra, in a loud voice, “ up and saddle your horses } 
we return to Casa-Frama.” 

“ What ! you leave us at this hour, Senor Don Santiago ? ” asked the young man, 
feigning to be awakened by the sound of the whistle. 

“ It must be so, senor,” answered he ; “ our escort is not necessary to you, and we 
have a long journey to make if we would reach Casa-Frama before sunrise. ,, 

Meanwhile, the Pincheyras had with alacrity obeyed the order which they had 
received; they had risen and had proceeded to get ready and saddle their horses. 

By accident apparently, but no d -ubt as planned by Don Santiago, the sentinels 
who were charged with watching over the common safety were the two gauchos and 
toe guaranis, so that he was ceitain that the secret of his conversation with the 
Frenchman would not transpire. 

In a few minutes the horsemen were in the saddles. The Pincheyra put himself 
at their head, and, turning towards Emile, making him a friendly salute with the 
hand — 

“ Adieu, senor, and good fortune 1 ” he said, significantly. 

The painter returned his cordial salute, and the little troop set out. It soon dis* 
appeared at the turn of the path. The sound of its steps gradually lessened, an<i 
betore long had ceased altogether. When silence was completely re-established, 
Emile made a sign to his companions. 

“ Now that we are alone, senores,” he said, “ let us talk, for affairs are seribus. 
Tyro, light the fire ; we will hold council in the Indian lashion.” 

The guaranis gathered some dry wood, piled it caretully, struck a light, and soon 
a slight column of flame rose brightly in the air. 

A deathlike siience reigned in the valley ; the breeze had died away ; there was 
not a sound in the air ;• the sky, black as ink, had not a single star; nature appeared 
to be gathering all her powe/s for a terrible strife of the elements ; trom the unex- 
plored depths of the chasms dull and mysterious sounds sometimes rose, ming- 
ling at intervals with the low growl of beasts going to seek water. 

The four men crouched round the fire, lit their cigarettes, and the young man 
talked to them, telling them what he thought advisable of the conversation which 
had taken place between him and Don Santiago. 

“ Aow,” added he, “answer me frankly ; can I count on you for ail that I think 
proper to do ? ” 

“Yes,” answered they with one voice. 

** Whatever haoyens? “ 


The Partisan. 




44 Whatever happens.” 

“ Well, I shall not be ungrateful ; the reward shall equal the services ; now, if you 
have any observations to submit, I am ready to near them. Speak freely, and 
without reservation.” 

The gauchos, peculiarly men ot action, and not by nature great talkers, con- 
tented themselves by saying that when tne moment for action arrived they would be 
ready — that they had nothing to say on the mode of proceeding— that that did not 
concern them. 

‘‘ That is right,” said Tyro. 44 Go to sleep, my braves, and leave us — the senor, 
our master, and I, agree on what is best to be done.” 

The gauchos did not require this to be repeated; they rose and proceeded to stret'h 
themselves amongst the baggage: a few minutes later, and they were sound 
asleep. 

Emile and the guaranis, who alone were awake, held a long and serious conver- 
sation, and arranged a plan which it is needless to state here. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE PARTISAN. 

We must now return to the Guaycurus chiefs, whom we left at the moment when, 
following Don Zeno Cabral, they entered a cavern where the Montonero — at least 
according to the words he made use of in accosting them — appeared to have given a 
rendezvous to the Congonar. 

This cavern — the entry of which, without knowing it well, it was impossible to 
distinguish from without, by reason of the conformation of the ground of which it 
formed the centre, and of the difficulty with v/hich it was reached — was vast and 
perfectly light, on account of a number of almost imperceptible fissures which allowed 
the light to penetrate at the same time that it renewed the air. At the bottom and 
on the sides several galleries opened, which were lost under the mountain at piobably 
very great distances. The spot where the partisans stopped, that is to say, at a few 
steps from the opening, contained several seats formed by blocks of oak awkwardly 
squared, and two or three masses of dried leaves, serving probably for beds to tuose 
who came to seek a temporary refuge in this place. 

In the centre of the cavern a great fire was lighted. Over this fire, suspended by 
a chain from three stakes placed triangularly, was boiling an iron pot, while a 
quarter of guanaco, spitted on a ramrod fixed in the ground, was roasting very gently ; 
some potatoes were cooking under the cinders, and several bullock-horn cups con- 
taining some haiinatostada were placed near seats on the ground. The arms of 
Zeno Cabral were leaning against one of the walls of the cavern; he had only kept 
his knife in his right pocket. 

44 Senores,” said tne partisan with a courteous gesture, “ permit me to offer you the 
poor hospitality that the circumstances in which we are compel me to give you. 
Before anything else we will eat and drink together to establish confidence between 
us, and to remove all suspicion of treason.” 

These words were spoken in Portuguese ; the captains answered in the same lan- 


The Insurgent Chief. 


jo6 


guage, and sat, after the example of their Amphytrion, on the seats prepared fo» 
them. 

Zeno Cabral then unhooked the pot and served with uncommon skill and vivacity 
in the couis which he presented to his guests, some tocino, choriajo, and charqui, 
seasoned with camotes and aji, which form the national dish of these countries. 

The meal commenced; the chiefs vigorously attacked the dishes place 1 before 
them, helping themselves with their knives instead of forks, and drinking in turn 
water slightly dashed with brandy to remove its brackishness. 

The Indians do not speak as they eat, so their meals are generally short. After 
the charqui, it was the turn for the guanaco ; then the harina tostada was taken, 
diluted with warm water, and at last Zeno Cabral made the mate and offered it to 
his guests. 

When the three personages had lighted their maize-straw cigarettes, Zeno Cabral 
a.t last spoke. 

“ I ought to apologise to you, Senor Captain,” said he in Portuguese to Gueyma, 
** for the kind of surprise by means of which I have obtained an interview with you ; 
the Congonar, of whom I have for a long time had the honour of being a friend, has 
induced me to act as I have done j if a fault has been committed, it is on him that 
the blame ought to rest.” 

“ What the Congonar does is always right,” answered the chief, smiling ; “ he is 
my father, since it is to him that I owe what I am ; I have not to blame turn then, 
convinced that very important reasons, and which no doubt will afterwards be 
explained to me, prevented him from acting otherwise.” 

“ Gueyma has well spoken, as usual,” said the Congonar ; “ wisdom dwells with 
him ; the white chief will not be long in giving motives for his conduct.” 

‘‘That is what I am immediately going to do, if the captains will be so good as 
to lend me their attention,” pursued Zeno Cabral. 

“ Let my father speak, our ears are opened.” 

The partisan collected himself for two or three minutes, and then commenced in 
these terms : 

“ My brothers, the Guaycurus warriors, deceived by the lying words of a white, 
have consented to form an alliance with him, and to follow him into this country, to 
aid him in fighting other whites, who have never done evil to my brothers. But 
while the wart iors entered on the path of war, and abandoned their hunting terri- 
tories, under the safeguard of the honour of their new allies the latter invaded, to the 
contempt of sworn faith, their territories, and tried to establish themselves there. 
This iniquitous project would probably have succeeded, considering the absence of 
the brave warriors of the tribe, if a friend of the Guaycurus, disgusted with that in- 
famous action, had not warned Tarou-Niotn, tne great captain of the Guaycurus, to 
put himself on his guard, and had not contracted an offensive and defensive alliance 
with Emavidi-Chaime, the great chief of the Payagoas, to oppose the attacks of the 
common enemy.” 

Notwithstanding the command of countenance of which the Indians boast in the 
most important circumstances, Gueyma, on learning this news, so decisively and 
coldly uttered, could not contain himself. His eyebrows knitted, his nostrils dilated 
like those of a wild beast; he bounded on his feet, and violently clapping his hands • 

“ My brother, the pale chief, has proofs of what he states, has he not? *» he cried' 
With a tone of sudden menace. * 

“ 1 haye,” simply answered Zeno Cabral. 

“ Good, then he will give them to me.” 

“ 1 will give them to the captain.” 

“But there is another thing I wish to know/* 


The Partisan. 


107 

— 

fi What does my brother wish to know ? ” 

4 ‘ Who is the friend of the Guaycurus who has warned them of the horrible treason 
^rhich is p’otted against them ? ” 

“ What good will it be to tell mv brother that? ” 

“ Because, as I know my enemies, I wish to know my friends.” 

Zeno Cabral bowed. 

“ It is I,’* said he. 

Gueyma looked at him a moment with a strange earnestness, as if he had wished 
60 read his most sectet thoughts. 

“It is good,’’ said he, at last ; “ what my brother says must be true. Gueyma 
thanks him, and offers him his hand.” 

“ I accept it with alacrity, for I have a long time loved the captain,’’ answered the 
partisan. 

“ Now, what are the proofs that my brother will give me ? ** 

Zeno Cabral searched under his poncho and drew out a guipos ; the latter quickly 
seized it, and immediately proceeded to decipher it with the same rapidity that a 
European reads a letter. 

Little by little the features of the chief resumed their marble rigidity ; then, after 
having completely deciphered the guipos, he handed it to the Congonar, and, turning 
towards Zeno Cabral, who followed all his movements with secret anxiety : 

“ Now, I know the insult that has been offered me,” said he, coldly, “ my brother 
trill give me, no doubt, the means of avenging myself.” 

“Perhaps I shall succeed,’’ answered the partisan. 

“ Why have a doubt on the lips when certain:)' is in the heart ? " pursued 
Gueyma. 

** What does the captain mean ? ” 

“ I mean that no one with the simple design of being agreeable to a man whom 
he does not know, would do as my brother has done.” 

“ I know the captain better than he thinks.” 

“ It is possible ; I admit that ; but it is not the less evident to me that my brother 
the pale chief, had a design in acting as he has done. It is that design that Gueyma 
wishes to know.” 

“ If my brother were to suppose that I also have to avenge myself on the man 
who has insulted him, and that for this vengeance to be more sure and striking, I 
need the aid of my brother — would he refuse me ? ” 

" No, certainly, if instead of being a supposition it was a reality.” 

“The captain promises me? ” 

“ I promise it.” 

« Well, the suspicions of the chief are just. Notwithstanding the lively and sincere 
friendship that I have for him, obliged for the present to occupy myself with very 
important affairs, I should have, perhaps, neglected to concern myself with his, if I 
had not had a powerful inducement to do so, and if the man of whom he wishes to 
avenge himself had not long been my enemy. There is the whole truth.” 

“ Ah ! my brother has well spoken ; his tongue is not lorked ; the words that 
come from his breast are loyal. What will my brother do to assure my vengeance 
at the same time as his own ? ” 

“Two things.” 

“ What is the first ? ” 

« I will deliver into the hands of the captain the wife and daughter of his enemy.” 
The Indian’s eye darted a lightning flash of joy. 

“ Good,” cried Gueyma; “now what is the second? ” 

c: 2. will guide my brother by the paths of wild beasts, known only to myself, and 


The Insurgent Chief. 


ioB 


with the rich plunder that I have given him, I will enable him to reach in less th|* 
five days the frontier of his hunting -territory.” 

*• My brother will do that ? ” 

“I will do it, I swear.’’ 

“ Good ; when will the two pale women be my captives ? ft 

“ Before two days, if the chief consents to aid me.” 

“ I have told the white chief that he can dispose of me ; let him speak, then, with* 
out fear.” 

Zeno Cabral cast an inquiring look at the Congonar, who, up to that time, had 
sat mute and impassive during the conversation. 

“ My brother can speak,” said the old chief; “ the word of Gueyma is the word 
of a captain ; nothing can make him change it.’’ 

“ Let my brother pay the most serious attention to what I am about to say. I 
will only do what I propose on one condition.’’ 

“ I am listening.” 

“ My brother will not be able to dispose, under any pretext, of the captives placed 
in his hands without my authority ; under no pretext can he give them liberty with- 
out I consent to it. For the rest, the Congonar knows my intentions, and he has 
promised to conform to them.” 

“ Is it true ? ’’ asked Gueyma of the old chief, turning towards him, 

“ It is true,” laconically answered the latter. 

“The Congonar,” resumed the young man, “ is one of the wisest warriors of my 
tribe ; what he says is always good : it is my duty to follow his example ; I adhere 
to what the white chief wishes.” 

Zeno Cabral bowed his head as a sign of thanks, and, spite of himself, a gleam 
of satisfaction for an instant illumined his austere face. 

“ Has the pale chief anything to add to what he has told me ? ” Gueyma resumed. 

“ Nothing,” answered the partisan. 

“ It is well. My brother, the white chief, knows the customs of the pampas, does 
he not ? ” 

“ I know them ; my life has been almost wholly passed in the desert.” 

“ Does he know the ceremony of the compact of vengeance in use in the tribe of 
the Guaycurus ? ” 

“ I have heard speak of it. I know that it is a kind of brotherhood of arms which 
binds two men to each other by a tie stronger than the nearest relationship.” 

“Yes, that is it; does my brother consent to this ceremony being pei formed by 
us ? ” 

“ I consent to it with all my heart, chief,” answered the partisan, without hesita- 
tion, “ because my intentions are pure, no thought of treachery is in my heart, and 
I have for my brother great friendship.” 

“Good,” resumed the young chief; “ I thank my brother for accepting me as his 
blood companion.” 

The three men rose. 

The Congonar then advanced between them, and making them stretch out the 
right hand — 

“ Each of you,” said he, “ is double ; he has a friend to watch over him in all 
places and in all circumstances — night as well as day, morning as well as evening; 
the enemies of one are the enemies of the ot. er ; what one possesses belongs to his 
friend ; at the call of his blood companion, no matter where he is, no matter what 
he is doing, the friend must immediately abandon all to run to him who claims 
his presence. Death even cannot disunite you; in the other life your compact 
must continue as strong as in this. You, Zeno Cabral, for the tribe of the 


The Partisan . 


109 


Guaycurus, you are now named Cabral Gueyma ; and you, Gueyma, for the 
brothers of your friend, are Gueyma Zeno. Your blx>d even ought to mix in your 
breasts, in order that your thoughts may be really the same, and that, at the hour 
when you shall appear afrer death before the Master of the world, he may recognise 
you and reunite you to each other.” 

After having thus spoken, the Congonar drew his knife from its sheath, and 
slightly punctured the chest of the partisan, just over the heart. 

Zeno supported without trembling or paling this startling incision ; the old chief 
received the blood which flowed from the wound in a coui, in wh ch a little water 
remained. He then punctured in the same way the chest of the young chief, and 
caused his blood to flow into a coui. 

Then raising the vessel above his head — 

“ Watriors,” cried he, in a sombre and majestic voice, “your blood is contained 
there, so well mixed that it cannot be separated ; each of you is about to drink of this 
cup, which between you you must empty; it is your turn first,” added he, turning 
to Zeno Cabral, and holding out the vessel to him. 

“ Give it to me,” coldly answered the partisan, and he carried it without hesitation 
to his lips. 

When he had drunk about half of what it contained he presented it to Gueyma. 
The latter took it without uttering a word, and emptied it at a draught. 

“ At our next meeting, brother,” then said the young chief, “ we will exchange our 
horses, for we cannot do so now. Meanwhile, here is my gun, my sabre, my knife, 
my powder-horn, my shot- pouch, my laco, and my bolas. Accept them, and may 
the Great Spiiit grant that they may do you as good service as they have done 
me.” 

“ I receive them, brother, in exchange for my arms.” 

Then the two men embraced, and the ceremony was over. 

“ Now,” said the Congonar, “ the moment for separation has come ; we must re- 
join our warriors ; where shall we see one another again, and when will the meeting 
take place ? ” 

“ The second sun after this,” said the partisan, “ I shall expect my brothers three 
hours before the setting of the sun at the Canon de Verbas Verdes. The captives will 
be with me. The cry of the eagle of the Cordilleras, three times repeated, will warn 
my brothers of my presence; they will answer me by that ot the mawkawis, 
repeated the same number of times.” 

“ Good 1 my warriors will be exact.” 

The three men heartily shook hands, and the Guaycurus chiefs withdrew, again 
taking the almost impracticable way by which they had come, but which could not 
otter any serious difficulties to men inured like them to every bodily exercise, and en- 
dowed with an unequalled suppleness and agility. 

Zeno Cabral remained alone in the cavern. 

The partisan threw himself on a seat, leant his head on his breast, and thus re. 
mained for a considerable lapse of time plunged in profound reflection. 

When the first shadows of evening began to invade the entrance of the cavern, the 
young man stood up. 

“ At last,” murmured he, in a low voice, “ I am about to have that vengeance that 
for so long a time 1 have sought. No one now can snatch my prey from me. My 
lather will start with joy in his grave on seeing in what way 1 keep my oath. Alas l 
why must I use the hatchet intended to martyr two innocent woman ? The true 
culprit still escapes me! Will God permit him to fall through my hands? How 
siiail I compel him to give himself to me ? ” 

He kept silence some moments, and then resumed with savage energy s 


no 


The Insurgent ChieJ. 


u Of what use is it to pity the fate of thes- women ? Does not the law of thf 
desert say, An eve for an eye, a tooth for a tooth ? Jt is not I who have committer 
the crime. I avenge the insult done to my family ; the die is cast ; God will judg 
me 1 ” 

He rose and took a few steps in the cavern. The darkness was nearly complete. 
Zeno Cabral took a torch of rotten wood, lit it, and fixed it in the ground ; then, after 
another hesitation, he shook his head, passed his hand over his forehead, as if to 
chase away a passing idea, and sat himself down tn one of the seats, after having 
cleared away the traces of the meal and those left by the Guaycurus warriors. 

“ I am mad,” murmured he in a low voice, “ it is too late now to go back ; ” and 
seizing his gun, he fired it in the air. 

The sound of the report repeated by the numerous echoes of the cavern reverberated 
for a considerable time, grew weaker and weaker, and finally ceased. 

Almost immediately the light of several torches shone at the bottom of a side 
gallery, rapidly increased, and soon illuminated the cavern with reddish tints, which 
fell upon the walls with fantastic reflections. These torches were carried by Mon- 
toneros led by several officers, among whom was Don Silvio Quiroga. 

“ Here we a e, general,” said ihe captain, with a respectful bow. 

“ Where are the prisoners? ” asked Zeno Cabral, as he loaded his gun, which he 
placed within reach. 

“ Guarded at a few paces off by a detachment of our men.” 

“ Let them come.” 

The captain withdrew without answering. Some minutes passed, at the end of 
which he re-appeared, accompanied by three unarmed men, who walked in the midst 
of a group of partisans. 

“ It is well,” said the general, “ leave me with these Caballeros, I wish to talk with 
them ; only be ready to run here if occasion requires, at the first signal. Go.” 

Captain Quiroga planted two or three torches in the ground, and then disappeared 
in the gallery from which he had come out. 

Don Zeno remained alone with the two prisoners; the latter stood upright before 
him, cold and haughty, their heads proudly thrown back, and their arms crossed on 
their ches r s. 

There was a moment of silence. 

It was one of the prisoners who broke it. 

“ I suppose, senor general,” said he, with a slight tone of raillery, “ since that is 
the title they give you, that you have called us into your presence in order to have us 
shot ? ” 

“ You are deceived, Senor Don Lucio Ortega,” coldly answered the partisan; “ at 
present, at least, such is not my intention.” 

“ Y ou know me,” cried the Spaniard, with a movement of surprise which he could 
not suppress. 

“ Y es, senor, I know you, as well as your compan ons, the Senor Count Mendoza 
and Colonel Zioozain. I know even with what design you have come thus to wander 
about these mountains ; you see that I am well served by my spies.” 

“ Caramba 1 ” gaily cried Captain Ortega, “ I wisn I had been as well served bv 
mine.” 

The partisan smiled with irony. 

M In point ot fact, senor,” said the count, “ what do you intend to do with us, since 
we are in your power, and you do not wish to have us shot ? ” 

“ You acknowledge, do you not, that I should have the right to do so if that were 
my good pleasure ? ” 

“ Perfectly,” put sued the captain ; “ as to us, be convinced that we should not have 


The Partisan . 


MI 


failed to break your skull if fate had made you fall into our hands. Is it not so 
sen. -res ? ” * 

The two officers answered affirmatively. 

“Touching unanimity !” said the Montonero, with a sneer. “ I give you credit, 
believe me, for your good intentions towards me ; however, they do not change my 
resolution.” 

“ is,” resumed the cap'ain, “ probable that you find it more advantageous to 
youiself to allow us to live than to order our execution ? ” 

“ That is evident.” 

“ But it is probable also that the conditions you will impose upon us,” said the 
colonel “ will be of such a kind that we shall refuse to accept them, preferring death 
to dishonour.” 

“ Well, you have not at all guessed it, my dear colonel,” answered the partisan, 
with good humour ; “I know too well how soldiers ought to conduct themselves, even 
as enemies, to profit by the advantages that my position gives me; and these condi- 
tions will be, on the contrary, excessively easy.” 

“ Oh, oh 1 that is strange,” murmured the count. 

“Very strange indeed, Monsieur Count, to see one of those miserable creoles — . 
those wild beasts, as you call them — preserve sentiments of humanity so completely 
forgotten by their ex-masters, the noble Castilians.” 

“ I confess that for my part I am curious to know these benign propositions,^ 
said the captain, with a sneer. 

“ You are about to be satisfied, senor,” replied the partisan, with the sly tone th f 
he had affected from the commencement ot the interview; “but meanwhile wil, 
you be so good as to sit down ? 1 am at home ; I wish to do you the honours ot mj 
abode.” 

“ Be it so, we listen to you,” said the captain, sitting down — a movement imitated 
by his two companions. 

“ Here are my conditions,” resumed the partisan : “ I offer to restore you imme- 
diately to liberty, giving you the baggage which has been taken from you. and 
allowing you the fa.cil.ty of continuing vour journey, and to accomplish the mission 
with which you are charged for Don Pablo Pincheyra.” 

“ Eh 1 ” cried the captain, “ you know that also? ” 

“ I know all. Have I not told you ? ” 

“ That is true ; pardon me this interruption,” said the captain ; “ you said, then, 
that you offered to set us at liberty. &c., &c. — on condition — ” 

“ On condition,” repeated D .n Zeno, “ that first you will give me your word of 
honour as gentlemen and soidiers, that whatever happens during all the time that 
we remain together, you will never utter my name, and that with regard to me you 
will be inviolably secret.” 

“ At present I do not see anything which prevents us taking this engagement. 
The.i, senor, for that is not all I imagine — ” 

“ Just so, that is not all. I wish to go in your company to the camp of Casa- 
Frama, to treat with Don Pablo Pincheyra on an affair which concerns myself. I 
will take the name and the costume of a Portuguese officer. You will not betray me, 
and, moreover, you will aid me in terminating the affair in question ; I know that 
you possess sufficient influence over Don Pablo to enable me to succeed.” 

“ Do you refuse to instruct us as to this affair ? ” asked the count. 

4 ‘ By no means. This susceptibility is too honourable for me not to accede to your 
request. It concerns two Portuguese ladies, the Marchioness de Castelmelhor and her 
uaughter, whom the Pincheyras have seized against the right of nations, and whom 
I wish to deliver*’* 


The Insurgent Chief. 


xia 


“ Is that all?” 

“ Yes, caballero; see if your honour will permit you to accept these conditions ? 

“ Senor Don Zeno Cabral,” answered the count, “ the history which you are 
pleased to relate to us is very well imagined, although we doubt much the realty of 
your devotion to these ladies. As they are almost unknown to us, and as you have 
told us this affair entirely concerns yourself, we do not acknowledge the rignt to 
inquire into it ; consequently my companions and I accept your conditions, which, 
let us state, are really very easy. We give you our word of honour to fulfil exactly 
the engagement that we take with regard to you, without we are otherwise compelled 
by force.” 

“ We give you our word of honour, as well as our noble friend. Count de Men- 
doza,” said the cap'ain and the colonel together. 

“ And now,” added Don Lucio Ortega, “ when shall we be free ? ” 

u Immediately, Caballeros.” 

“ And we shall set out ? ” 

“ At sunrise, so as to be to-morrow morning at Casa-Frama. Now, dispose of 
me, senores ; I am no longer your host.” 

We have already stated in what way the count and the persons who accompanied 
him had been received by the Pincheyras. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE CAPTIVES. 

As soon as the reception had terminated, Don Pablo had offered to the Spanish 
envoys and to the Portuguese officer — that is to say, to Don Zeno Cabral, whom he 
was far from suspecting was a guest in his camp — a collation that the latter had 
accepted. 

Although camped in one of the most inaccessible parts of the Cordilleras, the 
Pincheyras — thanks to their continual excursions, to the robberies and pillage they 
committed in the chacras, the towns and even the cities situated on the two sides of 
.he mountains — were well provisioned ; their retreat was filled with the rarest and 
most delicate things. 

By the care of the sister of Don Pablo, charged by her brother with the domestic 
management, a table had been prepared and covered with a profusion of provisions 
of all sorts — with sweets, fruits, and liqueurs, and even with the wines of Spain and 
France, that certainly one would have been far from expecting in such a place. 

Trie Spaniaids and the Hispano- American creoles are generally sober ; however, 
when the occasion presents itself, they by no means scorn the pleasures of a well- 
furnished table. On this occas on they feasted in emulation of each other on the 
good cheer provided for them— either on account of the long privations that they had 
previously endured, or because all was in reality exquisite, and served with much 
taste. The meal was thus prolonged a considerable time ; it was more than three 
hours after dinner when the guests at last rose from the table. 

Don Pablo then took Zeno Cabral on one side, whom he had placed near him at 
table, and for whom he had a strong liking. 


The Captives. 


i n 


“ oenor Don Sebastiao,” said he, in a somewhat trembling- voice ; for notwith- 
standing, or perhaps on account of, his habitual sobriety, the tew glasses of generous 
wine that the partisan had been obliged to drink while entertaining his guests had 
given him a slight touch of drunkenness — “ 1 find you, vive Dios ! a charming 
companion. I should like to do something which will be agreeable to you.” 

“ You do me honour, cabal lero,” answered Zeno Cabral, with some reseive. 

“ Yes, Dios me tmpare ! it is so. I confess that this morning I was somewhat 
thwarted in giving you up the two ladies.” 

“Why?” 

“ Diablo ! I ought to have had a good ransom for them.” 

“ Do not let that distress you, Caballero; I am quite ready ” 

“No, no,” he quickly replied, “do not let us speak of that; I shall gain with 
others what I have lost with them. I wish now to tell you that I am delighted with 
what has happened. Bah ! you please me — much better that it is so. Besides, 
these women weary me ; they weep continually — it is insupportable.” 

“ J ust so ; you were saying, then ? ” 

“ Well, I was saying that if I could be agreeable to you in anything, I should be 
happy if you would allow me to show the esteem I have for you.” 

“ You flatter me, Caballero, in speaking thus; I do not deserve this kindness on 
your part. Well, as you will have it so, I will be frank with you, senor j there is, indeed, 
one thing in which you could be useful to me.” 

“ Well and good — what is it ? ” 

“ Oh ! mon Dieu ! a very simple affair. Leave these ladies, I beg you, in igno- 
rance of their deliverance; you know that jov, like giief, is to be feared when it 
comes suddenly without any preparation. I am afraid of the revulsion that the 
announcement of this sudden departure will cause these ladies, as they are so far 
from expecting it.” 

“ What you ask me is very easy, of course ; however, I must tell them to-morrow, 
or this evening.” I 

“Don’t worry about that; it’s easily managed. Tell them that they must be 
ready to mount horse to-morrow at sunrise, without telling them of the cause or the 
destination of the journey. I shall be careful to keep out of their sight till I find an 
opportunity of presenting myself to them without too much exciting them.” 

The Pincheyra, a man naturally very unsentimental, did not appreciate what the 
Montonero said to him. But, by reason of that species of innate vanity in all men, 
which leads them to attribute qualities to themselves which they do not possess— 
attracted, moreover, towards his new acquaintance by an inexpressible sympathy— 
he made no difficulty in agreeing to what Don Zeno Cabral asked him, and con^ 
seated to let him act quite in his own way, inwardly flattered by the good opinion 
that the latter appeared to have of him, and anxious to prove to him that he was not 
deceived in him. 

Matters thus arranged, Don Pablo requested — without entering into any details — 
his brother, Don Anton o, to inform the ladies of their approaching departure, and, 
going out with Don Zeno, he took him to visit the camp of Casa-Frama. 

Jose Antonio, the third brother of Pincheyra, was a man of about twenty, of a 
melancholy disposition and limited intelligence, who accepted with bad grace the 
commission which had been given him ; but he proceeded to acquit himself of it as 
quickly as possible. 

l ie went, theiefore, to the toldo inhabited by the two ladies. 

They were alone, talking to each other, when the Pincheyra presented himself. 

At sight of him they could not repress a movement of surprise — almost of fright, 


The Insurgent Chief. 


1 14 


but they immediately recovered themselves, and returned the abrupt salute whic 1 ’ h - 
had given them without speaking to them, which led the marchioness to ask what 
was the reason of his visit. 

“ Senora,” said Jose, “ my brother the colonel, Don Pablo Plneheyra, has requested 
me to give you notice to be ready to leave tne camp to-morrow at sunrise.” 

“ I thank you for this good news, Caballero,” coldly answered the marchioness. 

“ I do not know if the news be good or bad, and it’s all one to mp. 1 am ordered 
to tell you, and I do it — that is all. Now that my commission is done, adieu — 

I withdraw ” 

And, without further remark, he made a move to go away. 

“ Pardon, Caballero,” sanl the marchioness to him, making an effort to continue 
the conversation, in the hope of seeing a favourable light burst upon the chaos 
which surrounded her ; “ one word, if you please.” 

“ One word let it be,” answered he, stopping, “ but no more.” 

“ Do you know why we are to quit the camp ? ” 

“ Upon fny word, no ; what is it to me whether you leave or not ?** 

“ That is true — it must be quite indifferent to you ; but you are, I believe, one of 
your brother’s principal officers ? ” 

“ I am a captain,” he answered, holding himself up proudly. 

“ In that capacity you must be in the confidence of your brother’s projects, so as 
to know what are his intentions.” 

“ 1 1 what for ? My brother does not render account to me, and I do not ask 
any.” 

The marchioness bit her lips with vexation ; but she continued, abruptly changing 
the conversation — 

“ If I am so soon to leave the camp, permit me, caballero, to offer you, before 
leaving, this slight mark of remembrance ; ” and taking from her breast a delicate 
reliquary in gold, curiously chased, she presented it to him with a gracious smile. 

The eye of the bandit flashed with covetousness. 

“ Ah 1 ” said he, holding out his hand, “ what is that ? ” 

“ This medallion,” replied the marchioness, “contains relics.” 

*' Relics 1 ” he exclai ined ; “ real ? ” 

“ Ceitainly, it contains a splinter of the true cross, and a tooth of Santa Rosa de 
Lima.” 

*• Ah ! and they are of use, are they not ? Father Gomez, my brclher’s chaplain, 
says that the relics of saints are the best arms that a Christian can carry with 
him.” 

“ He is right ; these are infallible against wounds and sickness.” 

The bandit’s eye dilated; an indeSwiibablc expression of joy overspread his coun- 
tenance. 

“ And you will give them to mo ? ” he quidkly exclaimed. 

“ I give them to you, but on one condition.” 

“ Without condition ! ” he resumed, knitting his eyebrows, and casting a sinister 
look at the marchioness. 

The only active sentiment in the heart of this man — his superstition — had been 
aroused. Perhaps to seize these relics that he coveted he would not have recoiled 
from a crime. 

The marchioness immediately perceived the thought, indistinct as it was, that 
agitated his obtuse mind. She exhibited no emotion, and continued — 

“ These relics would immediately lose their virtue if they were taken by violenea 
from the person who possesses them.” 


The Captives. 




* Ah l” murmured he, with and husky voice, “they must be freely given ? w 

“ They must,” coldly answered the marchioness. 

Dona Eva had felt a shudder of fear run through her limbs at the concealed threat 
of the bandit ; but his exclamation re-assured her ; she saw that the wild beast w<yi 
tamed. 

“ What is the condition ? ” pursued he. 

“ I wish to know if some strangers arrived in the camp yesterday.” 

** They arrived this morning.” 

“ Spaniards ,? ” 

“Yes” 

“ Was there a Portuguese among them ? ** 

“ I believe there was one.” 

“ Are you sure of it ? ” 

“ Y es, it is he who is to take you away $ he offers a large ransom for you. 
I remember, because my brother has refused the ransom while consenting to part 
with you.” 

“ Ah ! ” she murmured, with a dreamy air. 

“ Have you anything else to ask me ? ” 

“ One question more.” 

“ Be quick,” he answered, his eyes greedily fixed on the reliquary, which he never 
lost sight of. 

“ Do you know Don Emile ? * 

“ The Frenchman ? ” 

“ Y es, the same.” 

“ I know him.” 

“ I should like to speak with him.” 

“ It is impossible.” 

“ Why so ? ” 

“ Because he left the camp an hour ago, in company with my brother, Don 
Santiago.” 

“ Dc you know when he will return ? ” 

“ Never ; I repeat that he has gone away.” 

A sigh of relief escaped the breast of the marchioness. If the young man had 
gone away, it was with the intention of being of service to them. All hope was not 
then lost to them. 

“ I thank you,” she replied, “ for what you have consented to tell me ; there is the 
reliquary.” 

The Pincheyra bounded on it like a wild beast on his prey, and hid it under his 
poncho. 

“ You swear to me that these relics are true? ” he asked, in a suspicious tone. 

“ I swear it.” 

'No matter,” murmured he; “I will have them blessed by Father Gomez. 
Adieu, madame.” 

And without further salutation he turned on his heel, left the toldo as abruptly as 
he had entered it, keeping his right hand firmly on his breast, no doubt to assure 
himself that the precious reliquary was still in the place where he had hidden it. 

There was a long silence between the two ladies after the departure of the 
Pincheyra. 

The marchioness at last raised her eyes, and fixed a long look on her daughter, 
Who,. .her head reclined on her breast, seemed lost in bitter reflections. 

*• Eva ! ” said she, in a gentle voice. 


Ii6 


The Insurgent Chief. 


The young girl started, and, holding up her beautiful face, paled with grief t 
u Do you speak, mother? ” she answered. 

“ Yes, my girl,” replied the marchioness ; “ you were thinking, no doubt, of oui 
unhappy situation ? ” 

“ Alas 1 ” exclaimed she. 

“ A situation,” continued the marchioness, “ that every moment renders more 
dreadful ; for, do not deceive yourself, my child, this liberty that the bandit accords ns, 
whose prisoners we are — this liberty is but a snare.” 

“ Oh 1 do you think so, mother ? What makes you suppose that 5 ” 

“ I know nothing ; and yet I am convinced that the man who says he is sent by 
your father to take us back to him, and who obstinately keeps out of the way, instead 
cf presenting himself to us as he ought to do — I am convinced that this man is our 
enemy, more to be feared, perhaps, than he from whom he takes us away, and who 
a bandit without faith or law — has only kept us in the hope of a ricii ransom, 
^itertaining towards us neither hatred nor anger.” 

“ Pardon me, mother, for not being of your opinion in this matter. In a country 
so far from our own — where, except Don Emile, we know no one — strangers in the 
midst of the people who surround us — what enemy can we have to fear ? ” 

The marchioness smded sadly. 

“Your memory is short,” she said, “ my dear Eva; careless, like all children of 
your age, the past is nothing more to you than a dream, and without dwelling on 
the present, you look only to the future. Have you, then, forgotten the partisan 
chief who, tw r o months ago, made us his prisoners, and from whom Don Emile’s 
devotion saved us ? ” 

“ Oh no I mother,” cried she, with a nervous start ; “ no, I have not forgotten 
him, tor this man seems to be our evil genius. But, God be praised ! here, at least, 
we have nothing to fear from him.” 

“ Y ou deceive yourself, my daughter ; it is he, on the contrary, who now pursues 
us.” 

“ It cannot be. mother; this man, you know, is attached to the opposite party to 
that of the bandit in whose hands we are.” 

“ Poor child ! the wicked always unite when there is any evil to be dene. I repeat, 
this man is here.” 

“ Mother,” said the young girl, whose voice trembled with emotion, but in a re- 
solute tone, “ you have long known this man ? ” 

“ Yes,” she simply answered. 

As that is the case, you no doubt know the motives, true or false, of this implac- 
able hatred ? ” 

“ Yes, I know them, my girl.” 

*' And,” said she, with some hesitation, “ why do you not acquaint me with 
them ? ” 

“ No, that is impossible.” 

” Permit me to ask you a question, mother.” 

“ Speak, my girl ; if I can answer I will.” 
u Do the reasons for this hatred affect you personally?” 

” No, I am, in every way, innocent of the deeds with which we are reproached.” 

“ Why we , mother ? ” 

“ Because, dear child, all the members of a family are so intimately connected, yw 
know.” 

*' I know it, mother.” 

* It is an unquestionable consequence of this that a deed laid at the door of one 


The Captives. 


"1 


member of a family must be for all, and that if this action is shameful or guilty, all 
must subm'vto the shame of it, and bear its responsibilities.” 

44 The... is true; thank you, mother, I understand you; now there only remains one 
point on which I am not well informed.” 

u To what do you allude ? ” 

“ To this — that at Santiago de Chile, and afterwards at Salto, Senor Don Zen* 
Cabral — that is his name, I think ? ” 

“ Yes, that is his name ; well ? ” 

“ When he came to our house, did you then know this hatred that he bears us ? * 

44 I knew it, my girl,” briefly answered the marchioness. 

44 Y ou knew it, mother ! ” cried Dona Eva, with surprise. 

44 Yes, I knew it, I repeat.” 

“ But then, mother, if that were the case, why receive him on the footing of inti- 
macy, when it would have been so easy for you to have closed the door to him ? ” 

44 Do you think that would have been possible for me ? ” 

44 Forgive this persistence, mother; but I cannot explain to myself such conduct 
on your part. Y ou, endowed as you are with such exquisite tact, and so deep a 
knowledge of the world ! ” 

The marchioness slightly shrugged her shoulders, while a smile of indefinable 
expression played round her mouth. 

“ You reason foolishly, my dear Eva,” she answered, lightly impressing her pale 
lips on the forehead of the v oung girl. 44 l did not personally know Don Zeno 
Cabial. He was then ignorant, and probably is ignorant still, that I was misrress of 
the secret of his hatred — a secret of which, in fact (with a disposition less candidly 
honourable than that of your father), I should not have had (on account of certain 
particulars hurtful to me as a woman) — I should not have had, I say, to share the 
heavy burden. My design, in entertaining our enemy, and even in introducing him 
into our private intimacy, was to put him on the wrong scent — to make him believe 
.’hat I was in complete ignorance; and thus excite his confidence, and so succeed, if 
not in making him renounce his projects against us, at least in making hitn modify 
them, or obtain the avowal of them from him. The apparent weakness of Don 
Zeno — his effeminate manners, his pretended gentleness, his beardless face, which 
makes him appear much younger than he is — everything made me suppose that I 
should easily succeed in overreaching him. Unhappily it has not been so. This 
man is ut granite ; nothing moves him, nothing affects him. Availing himself of 
irony — so much the more dangerous, as it is difficult coolly to combat it— he always 
knew how to meet my stratagem and repulse my attacks. Tired of this, and galled 
one day by the tone of his biting raillery, which had never left him in our private 
interviews, I allowed myself to be carried away by anger ; I grievously offended him 
bv a bitter word that I threw in his face, and which I wished immediately to retract. 
But it was too late; the imprudence was pirrarable. In wishing to unmask my 
adversary, I had allowed him to read my heart. From that moment all was over 
between us — or rather all commenced. After having coldly bowed to me, he with- 
drew, ironically warning me to be more on my guard for the future. I saw him no 
more till the moment when he caused us to fall into the ambuscade which puts us in 
bis power.” 

While the marchioness was speaking the countenance of Eva expressed contrary 
feelings. Her emotion was so apparent that the marchioness perceived it. She 
ahruptly stopped. 

' What is the matter with you, Eva ? ” she asked. 

'*he young girl blushed, and lowered her head. 


The Insurgent Chief. 


irtt 


“ Answer,” severely resumed the marchioness, “answer at once.” 

“ Mother,” stammered she, in a feeble and trembling voice, “ is not what you teli 
me sufficient to cause the grief which you sec I am suffering? I do no* at all 
deserve the unjust anger that you display to me.” 

The marchioness shook her head, continuing to fix her eya upon her daughter, 
who, blushing and paling by turns, more and more lost countenance. 

“ Well,” said she, “ I am willing to believe what you say, but take care that some 
day I do not discover that you have spoken falsely — that a feeling, if not of the 
existence, at least of the power of which you are ignorant, and which you vainly try 
to conceal from me, has taken possession of your heart.” 

What do you mean, mother? In the name of heaven, I do not understand you.” 

Heaven grant that I may be deceived,” she replied, mournfully ; “ but let us 
quit this subject — we are getting too melancholy about it ; I have warned you, and I 
will watch — the future will decide.” 

“ Mother, when we are so unhappy already, why increase my sorrow by unjust 
reproaches ? ” 

The marchioness darted a look, in which there was a flash of anger, but imme- 
diately recovering herself — 

“ You have, then, understood me? ” she cried, with a calculating coolness. 

The young girl shivered, fell trembling on the bosom of her mother murmuring an 
answer interrupted by grief, and fainted. 

The marchioness lifted her gently, and laid her on a hammock. For a long time 
she contemplated her with an expression of anger, love, and sadness impossible to 
express. 

“ Poor, poor child ! ” murmured she, and falling on her knees near the hammock, 
she clasped her hands and addressed a fervent prayer to Heaven. 

She prayed a long time thus. Suddenly she felt a burning tear fall upon her 
forehead. She quickly raised her head. 

Her daughter, half raised upon the hammock, and leaning over her, was looking 
at her as she prayed. 

“ Mother ! mother ! ” she cried, drawing her gently towards her. 

The marchioness rose without answering, approached her daugher, and the 
'.wo women fell into each other’s arms, mingling their tears in an impassioned 
embrace. 

[For the continuation of the adventures of the characters in tiiis story, see *.nc 
* Flying Horseman,” same publishers.] 

ex 

. 

i 

i 


THE END. 


'marks the women of our households when they undertake to make their 
homes bright and cheery. Nothing deters them. Their weary work may 
be as long as the word which begins this paragraph, but they prove their 
regard for decent homes by their indefatigability. What a pity that any 
of them should add to theiv toil by neglecting to use Sapolio. It reduces 
the labor of cleaning and scouring at least one-half. 10c. a cake. Sold by 
all grocers. 


PHYSIC’ 




Dr. A. W. Thompson, Northampton, Mass., says: “I have tested tho 
Gluten Suppositories, and consider them valuable, as indeed, I expected 
from the excellence of their theory.” 


Dr. Wm. Tod Helmuth declares the Gluten Suppositories to be “the 
oest remedy for constipation which I have ever prescribed.” 

‘‘As Sancho Panza said of sleep, so say I of your Gluten Suppositories : 
•God bless the man who invented them!”— E. L. Ripley, Burlington, Vt. 

“ I prescribe the Gluten Suppositories almost daily in my practice and 
am often astonished at the permanent results obtained.”— J. Mqntfort 
Schley, M.D., Professor Physical Diagnosis Woman's Medical College, 
New York City. 

HEALTH FOOD CO., 75 4th Avenue, N. Y. 


THE BEST 

WASHING COMPOUND 

EVER INVENTED. 
liJtdy. Married or 
“Single, KieSa or Poor, 
Housekeeping or 
Boarding, will l>e 
without it after test- 
ing- its utility. 

Sold by all first-class 
Grocer s,bnt beware of 
worthless imitations. 



SOCIALISM IN ACTION 


It is the distinguishing feature of the Labor Movement that it 
strives after the attainment of a social state for every human 
being, such as shall be the healthy stimulation of all his good 
qualities, while his bad tendencies shall wither and drop away 
from him by the impossibility of their sustenance. 

To get at this conception of the possible life of man, has re- 
quired the experience of every day and every year, since the race 
arrived at the ability to keep a record of its progress. 

The process of the seasons, the growth and ripening of the crops 
has been the lesson nature has afforded for the study of her 
methods, and this ceaseless repetition has finally awakened man to 
the conception that his own life allies him to the same law of 
development. 

This is the measure of the socialist movement of the present, and 
for those who desire to take part in its furtherance we would com- 
mend tbe study of SOCIAL SOLUTIONS.* 

| The main purpose of this publication was to issue the transla- 
tion by Marie Howland of the first public statement by M. Godin, 
of the study and experience he has illustrated in the construction 
and organization of the FAMILISTERE. 

Though the translation of this most important demonstration of 
the new life for labor was announced when it was prepared, by one 
of the chief publishers of this country, yet being abandoned on the 
ground “the labor question was too exciting,” it remained in 
j manuscript until, in the course of events, a more progressive pub- 
j lisher was found. In its preparation the plan adopted was that 
j of twelve parts, each of which should contain such illustrative 
i material as the editor should either find or prepare. The twelve 
parts are now published and for sale. While the complete trans- 
j lation of M. Godin’s work is contained in eleven of the parts, the 
twelfth part is an admirable and complete exposition of the series 
of social solutions proposed by the Credit h’oncier of Sinaloa, for 
the organization of the society on Topolobampo Bay, in Sinaloa, 
Mexico, which has been gathered by the Credit Fonder of Sinaloa , 
a paper published at Hammonton, New Jersey, at $1.00 a year. 

* Social Solutions, published iu 12 parts in Lovell’s Library, price 10 cents 
jach, or the 12 parts for $1.00. 


JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 

14 and Id Vesey St.. New Yorle. 


Opinions of Eminent Men about 

“MOONSHINE" 


By FREDERIC ALLISON TUPPER, 


1 vol., I 2 mo, Lovell's Library, No. 895. 20 Cents. 


JOHN G. WHITTIER says : 

“I have read thy story of ‘Moonshine’ with a great deal of interest. 1 
should judge from the book that it was written by an eye-witness of the 
scenes it so graphically describes.” 

GEN. BENJAMIN F. BUTLER says : 

“ It takes its place with ‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ Post’s story ‘ From Ocean to 
Ocean,’ and Tourgee’s ‘ Fool’s Errand,’ in teaching the people the acts, doings, 
and feelings of each section. Accept my thunks for the book as a contribu- 
tion to the truth of history .” 

SENATOR JOHN SHERMAN says : 

“ I have read the book with interest and pleasure.” 

SENATOR JOHN A. LOGAN says : 

“ It seems to be a well-written book so far as I have had an opportunity 
j of examining it.” 

j SENATOR GEO. B. EDMUNDS says : 

“ Scattered paragraphs that I have read interest me very much.” 

, EX-SECRETARY GEO. S. BOUTWELL says : 

“I have read your novel entitled ‘Moonshine,’ with great interest. Your 
! picture of Southern outrages is a truthful representation as far as it relates 
j to the illicit distillation and sale of whiskey.” 


PRESS NOTICES. 

“ ‘Moonshine’ is a story, not of the moonshine of love or of nonsense, but 
of the tragic moonshine of the * moonshiners.’ It is vividly told and well 
i written. The hero is not the typical Northerner who used to go South and re- 
! turn a more than typical Southerner; but a Northerner rather inclintd to 
j Democratic and Southern ideals, who goes South and returns with no dis- 
i position ever to stray again from his native heath .”— The Critic. 

“The story is well xoritten and has power in causing impressions of its 
fidelity and in carrying convictions of its truth. It is a story that will entex'- 
tain many readers.”— Boston Glebe. 

“Incidentally it affords a view of political subversion in Alabama. If the 
ballot-box throughout the country were juggled with and polluted as it is in 
South Carolina, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, the Republic 
of the United States would be at an end. It is plain that the author writes 
as an eye witness.” — Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. 

“A sprightly story, graphic in description, and full of exciting incidents .” 
— Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

“ The style is easy and graceful.”— Chicago Times. 

“ Told with much vigor and shoios no little dramatic power.”— Zion's 
Herald. 

“ Full of life and incident.”— Harvard Crimson. 

“ Mr. Tupper is a terse writer, clear in portrayal, elevated in sentiment, 
and graphic in description. ” — Newton ( Mass, j Transcript. 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, Publishers, 

14 and 16 Vesey St., New York. 


I* 



Trademark [ 

timitiiimif 



EXFELLER ! 


is acknowledged to be the best and 
most efficacious Remedy for GOUT 
and RHEUMATISM, as testified by 
Thousands of people. Who has 
once tried this excellent Remedy 
will always keep the “ PAIN EX- 
PELLEE” trademark “Anchor” 
in his house. Sold by all Chemists. 
Price 50 Cents. 

F. AD. RICHTER. 8s CO. 

310 BROADWAY, NEW YORK and 
LONDON, E. C. 1, RAILWAY 
PLACE, FENCHURCH ST. 

Full particulars mailed free. 


A CLEAR COMPLEXION ! 


West 63<1 St., N. Y., lady writes : 

“I found Dn. Campbell’s Arsenic 
Complexion Wafers did all you guar- 
anteed they would do. I was delicate 
from the effects of malaria, could not 
sleep or eat, and had a 4 WRETCHED 
COMPLEXION;’ but NOW all is 
changed. I not only sleep and eat 
well, hut my complexion is the envy 
and talk of my lady friends. You may 
refer to me.” (Name and address fur- 
nished to ladies.) By mail, 50c. and 
*1.(>0 ; samples, 25c. Harmless. Pre- 
pared ONLY by 


J A E* S -A M PBEIili, M.D., 

146 West 16th .Street, N. Y. 

hold by Druggists. 


FACE, HANDS, FEET, 

and all their imperfec- 
tions, including Facial 
Development, Hair and 
S c a 1 p , Superfluous 
Hair, Birth Marks, 
Moles, Warts, Moth, 
Freckles, Red Nose, Acne, Black 
Heads, Scars. Pitting, and their 
treatment. Send 10c. for book of 
50 pages, 4th edition. 

l>r. JOHN H. WOODBURY, 

37 North Pearl St., Albany, N. Y. 

8 parlors— 3 for ladles. Established 1870 . 



— GT TIR-IE™- 

SICK HEADACHE! 

BY USING THE GENUINE 

Dr. C. McLane’s 

LIVER PILLS 

PRICE, 25 CENTS. 

FOR SALE BY ALL DRUGGISTS. 

■waMHiMM St ii.i us the out- 
side wrapper from a box of the 
genuine Dr. C. MeLANE’S Cele- ! 
brated Liver Pills, with your 
address, plainly written, and we 
will send you, by return mail, a j 
magnificent package of Chromatic 
and Oleograpliic Cards, 

FLEMING BROS. 
PITTSBURGH, PA, 


CANDY 


CANDY 


Send *1.25, *2.25, 
$3.50, or $5.00 for a 
sample retail box, by 
express, prepaid, ol 
the Best CANDIES 
in America. Strictly 
pure, and put up in 
elegant boxes. Suit- 
able for presents. 
Refers to all Chicago. 
Try it. Address, 

C. F. GUNTHER, 

Confectioner , 

212 State St., and 
78 Madison St., 
CHICAGO. 


STOMACH BITTERS 

HAS FOR 35 YEARS BEEN 


Adopted by Physicians and Invalids, 


. AS A REMEDY FOR 

Indigestion, Dyspepsia, 

Fever and Ague, Malaria, 
Neuralgia, Rheumatism, 

General Debility, 
And other KINDRED DISEASES, 


THOUSANDS OF TESTIMONIALS IN 
OUR POSSESSION. 

A sk your Druggist for it, and take none but 


HOSTETTER’S STOMACH BITTERS. 





The treatment of many thousands of 
cases of those chronic weaknesses and 
distressing- ailments peculiar to females, 
at the Invalids’ Hotel and Surgical In- 
stitute, Buffalo, N. Y., has afforded a 
vast experience in nicely adapting and 
thoroughly testing remedies for the 
cure of woman's peculiar maladies. 

I>r. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tion is the outgrowth, or result, of this 
great and valuable experience. Thou- 
sands of testimonials received from pa- 
tients and from physicians who have 
tested it in the more aggravated and 
obstinate cases which had baffled their 
skill, prove it to be the most wonderful 
remedy ever devised for the relief and 
cure of suffering women. It is not re- 
commended as a “cure-all,” but as a 
most perfect Specific for woman’s 
peculiar ailments. 

As a powerful, invigo rating- 
tonic it imparts strength to the whole 
system, and to the uterus, or womb and 
its appendages, in particular. For over- 
worked, “worn-out,” “run-down,” de- 
bilitated teachers, milliners, dressmak- 
ers, seamstresses, “shop-girls,” housc- 
keepers, nursing mothers, and feeble 
women generally, Hr. Pierce’s Favorite 
Prescription is the greatest earthly boon, 
being unequalled as an appetizing cor- 
dial and restorative tonic. It promotes 
digestion and assimilation of food, cures 
nausea, weakness of stomach, indiges- 
tion, bloating and eructations of gas. 

As a soothing and strengthen- 
ing nervine, “ Favorite Prescription ” 
is unequalled and is invaluable in allay- 
ing and subduing nervous excitability, 
irritability, exhaustion, prostration, hys- 
teria, spasms and other distressing, nerv- 
ous symptoms commonly attendant upon 
functional and organic disease of the 
womb. It induces refreshing sleep and 
relieves mental anxiety and despond- 
ency* . _ 

Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tion is a legitimate medicine, 
carefully compounded by an experienc- 
ed and skillful physician, and adapted 
to woman’s delicate organization. It is 
purely vegetable in its composition and 


perfectly harmless In Its effects in any 
condition of the system. 

“Favorite Prescription ” is a 
positive cure for the most compli- 
cated and obstinate cases of ieucorrhea, 
or " whites,” excessive flowing at month- 
ly periods, painful menstruation, unnat- 
ural suppressions, prolapsus or falling 
of the womb, weak bf,ck, “female weak- 
ness,” anteversion, retroversion, bearing- 
down sensations, chronic congestion, in- 
flammation and ulceration of the womb, 
inflammation, pain and tenderness in 
ovaries, accompanied with internal heat. 

In pregnancy, “Favorite Prescrip- 
tion” is a “mother’s cordial,” relieving 
nausea, weakness of stomach and other 
distressing symptomj common to that 
condition. If its use is kept up in the 
latter months of gestation, it so prepares 
the system for delivery as to greatly 
lessen, and many times almost entirely 
do away with the suiferings of that try- 
in"- ordeal. 

“ Favorite Prescription,” whew 

taken in connection with the use of 
Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery, 
and small laxativo doses of Dr. Pierce ’3 
Purgative Pellets (Little Liver Pills), 
cures Liver, Kidney and Bladder dls 
eases. Their combined use also removes 
blood taints, and abolishes cancerous 
and scrofulous humors from the system. 

Treating tlae Wrong Disease.— 
Many times women call on the'r family 
physicians, suffering, as they Imagine, 
one from dyspepsia, another from heart 
disease, another from liver or kidney 
disease, another from nervous exhaus- 
tion or prostration, another with pain 
here or there, and in this way they all 
present alike to themselves and their 
easy-going and indifferent, or over-busy 
doctor, separate and distinct diseases, 
for which ho prescribes his pills and 
potions, assuming them to be such, 
when, in reality, they are all only s?ymp- 
tnms caused by some womb disorder. 
The physician, ignorant of the cause of 
suffering, encourages his practice until 
large bills are made. The suffering pa- 
tient gets no better, but probably worse 
by reason of the delay, wrong treatment 
and consequent complications. A prop- 
er medicine, like Dr. Pierce’s Favorite 
Prescription, directed to the cause would 
have entirely removed the disease, there- 
by dispelling all those distressing symp- 
toms, and instituting comfort instead of 
prolonged misery. 

“Favorito Prescription” is the 
only medicine for women solo, by drug- 
gists, under a positive guarantee, 
from the manufacturers, that it will 
give satisfaction in every case, or money 
will be refunded. This guarantee has 
been printed on the bottle-wrapper, and 
faithfully carried out for many years. 
Fargo bottles (100 doses) $1.00, or 
six bottles for $5.00. 

Send ten cents in stamps for Dr. 
Pierce’s large, illustrated Treatise (100 
pages) on Diseases of Women. Address, 
World’s Dispensary Medical Association, 
2JO, tkW Main stunkt, buffalo, a, T% 


BROTHER 



MATCHLESS 


PIANOS. 


Highest grade instruments manu- 
factured. Perfect and reliable In 
every respect. Endorsed and pre- 
ferred by the best musical author- 
ities. The choicest known. 


33 UNION SQUARE, NEW YORK 


FALL DRESS GOODS. 


JAMES McCREERY & CO. 


offer, among tlieir large assortment of Fall l>ress Goods, 


the following Special Fines: 

Two lines Stripe and Check Cheviots, 44 inches wide, 
at 00 cents; worth $1. 

Also, Three lines Check and Stripe Suitings, 54- inches i 
wide, at 75 cents; well worth $1.25. 


ORDERS )f coin any part of the country will receive 


BY MAiLJ 


careful and prompt attention. 


James McCreery & Co.. Broadway & 1 1 th St., 


NEW YORK CITY 


a. 














. 





































































- 











































































' 




































































































. 






















y 



mm 





f^T.1 f jnw. M 1 5R> 


t'Mfik\f^%\CTll# ift Wit i! \ >• f 'Ktl.a.i> 








0 







